


If this is a rom-com, kill the director

by girlsgenerations



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Multi, beyond ooc but at least there's a continuous plotline @d&d, jaime likes to flirt until he catches feelings then is as smooth as gravel, purely self-indulgent nonsense, sansa and jaime become an unintentional brotp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-03-09 14:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18918868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsgenerations/pseuds/girlsgenerations
Summary: Arya never goes to class, Sansa likes leaving passive aggressive sticky notes, Margaery meddles in everyone's business, and Brienne just wants to graduate and maybe live happily ever after with the attractive guy from across the hall.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Not only is this my first ever GoT fic, which I'm ngl, is making me very nervous, it's the first fic i've written in years. As nervous as I am, I'm writing what I know well - rowdy British adults getting obliterated. Also, nothing I write in this crackfic can be more out of character than what D&D have shat out on a script this season, so let's do this thing. I appreciate and adore any feedback, and will drop some information about this universe below. This is just a short chapter to get things started, I hope it isn't too awful. Thank you in advance!
> 
> \- this is unbeta'd  
> \- no incest here. cersei will not be a large feature in this fic due to my need for pure happiness with zero angst after season 8. she does, of course, exist, but she is merely a terrible sibling and a bad person.  
> \- this will include a very odd mix of irl pop culture and fictional culture  
> \- i have not finished the books, so there's also probably going to be an odd mix of things from the show and things from the book that aren't exactly the same  
> \- the pacing of this is already awful so please forgive me, this is my first time writing in years and i wanted to try to see if i could actually finish something  
> \- although this story does have clear beginning and ending point, i'm unsure the in-between will be linear throughout. some chapters may be drabbles or just sort of 'a look into the life of' uploads, i don't know, i haven't entirely decided yet  
> \- nerd!jaime is absolutely canon and i won't hear otherwise, his first crush was on buffy the vampire slayer  
> \- ages are completely askew so i just decided to try and make it fit as realistically as i could, therefore brienne is 23 as is margaery, jaime is 32, sansa is 21 and arya is 19

Brienne Tarth loved her friends. She swore, she did.

She loved them so much that would die for them; in fact, she almost had on multiple occasions - the majority down to Arya’s god-awful habit of antagonizing anyone and everyone she meets on a night out. The tiny girl had a mouth as sharp as a blade, and gods know she’d never back down from a chance to start a fight. There were quite a few football stadiums and pubs that Brienne was sure the younger Stark would never be welcome at again, but she loved that about her.

She loved that Sansa Stark was the complete opposite of her sister, often so soft spoken and reserved but she lit up like a firework when speaking of things she enjoyed. She appeared apprehensive and withheld, far too polite for her own good, only the whole world would open up in her eyes for the right people and the right topics. The personality that was hidden behind the charming beauty of the northern girl was far more attractive than any physical feature a person could have.

Then there was Margaery - Gods, Margaery bloody Tyrell - Brienne loved that she was like a tiny pixie elf goddess of beauty and love, yet somehow would also willingly destroy someone who wronged her friends. She’d never met someone so manipulative and sly, in both the best and worst ways. The long game of destroying a person’s mental health until they were merely a shell of a human was Margaery’s game, hidden easily behind her coy smile. Of course, she was unbelievably glad that Margaery had befriended her first, as opposed to being the subject of the emotional destruction subjected by her.

So yes, Brienne truly did love her friends. At that moment in time, though, she was ready to kill all of them.

Stumbling from her bedroom at eight AM, the flat was almost completely pitch black. Letting the other girls buy blackout curtains for the entire place was one hundred percent the worst idea she’d ever had, Brienne decided as she shuffled down the dark hallway into the living room, where she found herself tripping over what she hoped and prayed was a bowl of some kind. Liquid was seeping through one of her fuzzy sleep socks, and it took all the self control and resistance in the world to force the vomit back, gagging quietly as she hopped frantically away from it. It felt worse than touching a piece of soggy food while doing the washing up, and that was almost her worst nightmare. She didn’t even know that that kind of hell existed until that second. In a panicked attempt to find the light switch, her palm pounded along the wall until she could hit the switch, causing the room to flood all too brightly for newly awakened eyes. Unaware of her audience, Brienne squinted whilst trying to blink the sleep out of her eyes.

“Ugh, what the fuck?”

The ungrateful moan came from a lump under a blanket on the sofa. Her eyes adjusted to the light and she then realized there were two more blanketed lumps, one curled up on the tatty old beanbag that sat on the floor beside the sofa and the other lay with their upper half hidden under the coffee table; a surefire way to wake up to a nice smack of oak in the face from forgetting that they fell asleep under a table. The talking blanket unceremoniously flung their hood away to reveal a grumpy scowl. Arya Stark. Her hair was tangled, sticking up at odd angles and there was black eyeliner smudged down her cheeks. Though Brienne hadn’t been present, she’d been lucky enough to hear all of the escapades from the previous night through her bedroom wall. Given that Margaery’s door was locked when Brienne awoke, it appeared her two other roommates had escaped unscathed. From the mismatched socks with the hole in the toe, she gathered that the fool under the table was Theon, which made sense, since it definitely wasn’t the first time it’d happened. So that would mean that the beanbag blanket was Gendry, who had at least had the wits about him to not sleep somewhere too stupid after smoking Gods knew what. She wasn’t going to even mention how terrible the flat smelled.

“I hope you enjoyed your two and a half hours of sleep as much as I did,” she replied, not bothering to look back at to the sofa as reached the kitchen counters. She pulled a few mugs out of the cupboard. Nobody ever needed to know what the Starks were like without some caffeine in them, Brienne had learned that very quickly into the friendship. “What did you even get up to that was causing so much noise?”

The last thing she’d heard before falling asleep was hysterical giggling, Theon’s trademark snorting and the crashing of something fragile. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to hear the answer.

“Gendry wanted to try out indoor parkour. Then I think we were trying to microwave cereal.” Her recollection was punctuated with a yawn.

“Delightful,” Brienne muttered in return. That would explain the disgusting surprise she’d stepped into. She left her spot by the kitchen counter, grabbing two of the mugs filled to the brim with boiling water. As she handed one to Arya, the younger girl took in the smell of the instant coffee and let out an exhausted groan.

“You’re the best person on this planet.”

“If you say so.”

Brienne dropped into the space next to Arya, closest to the wall. The room fell silent as they sipped slowly at their hot drinks.

Leaning on the arm of the sofa, she barely pulled back the curtain and peeked out the window next to her. The blinding sun that hit her instantly filled her with joy. Winter had seemingly dragged on for an eternity, it felt, as spring barely shone through snow that was still piling up all the way into May and Brienne couldn’t stand the cold weather. Now, though, summer was finally approaching and Brienne couldn’t wait to have the warm weather back. King’s Landing was beautiful when drenched in bright light and warm weather. It reminded her of home, of Tarth, and in her mind she noted that she should remember to book her tickets to fly home for a bit while the weather was good. Her heart ached in longing to go back for a short time; imagining her father alone in their large house all by himself still managed to wrack her with guilt.

While Brienne loved their house and loved her father, the thought of being on the island she grew up on wasn’t a pleasant one. It was far too small and there was no mystery; every single person knew each other somehow. Her former classmates would surely remember every little thing she’d done to embarrass her at school, and the further away she could get from them, the better. It got to a point where she felt she would suffocate if she stayed there any longer. The thought of going to the single tiny university they had on the island made her stomach turn.

King’s Landing was everything that Tarth wasn’t. It was huge, ever changing and you were unlikely to pass the same face more than once. It was everything that Brienne needed - her fresh start, her reinvention. Obviously, at twenty three and over six foot, there was only so much reinventing one could do, but she had sworn that the new and improved Brienne was at least going to try to make things better for herself.

That was where her thanks for her adoring friends came in.

Though having applied a few years later than the usual age, Brienne jet off to KLU at twenty two. Her first year was spent living alone in her tiny room in student housing, where she lived with seven other people. If you asked her now, she wouldn’t be able to recall a single one of their names. She rarely left her room if it wasn’t to leave for the library or her lectures. At those classes, her lecturer, Catelyn, had become the one person in King’s Landing that acknowledged Brienne’s existence. It moved pretty quickly from professional respect with her teacher to the love and trust of a parent and child. She supposed that in a way, Catelyn was kind of her adopted mother. Reaching the end of her first year with no friends and, within a few weeks, no place to live, Brienne had confided in Catelyn. Naturally, the older woman mentioned that her own daughters were also in search of housing for the next year. One was eighteen and fresh out of school, the other twenty and finishing her first year as well. Through that conversation she found her best friends. Her and Sansa had instantly clicked, soft sweet Sansa taking to her like a fish to water. Arya, the brisk girl that she was, took a tad longer. In the end, the suggestion had ended with them loading furniture into their new flat - far nicer than her student housing, courtesy of the Stark’s bank account. Brienne had tried to refuse such a thing, but Catelyn had insisted that her girls lived safely in a respected area and a well protected building, and Brienne had flushed deeply at being referred to as one of her girls, her heart feeling warmer and more full than it had in years. Faced with a spare room to fill and rent needing to be paid, Sansa had managed to pull in one of her former housemates - Margaery Tyrell, the same age as Brienne, and everything seemed to fall together instantly. Fit together like a completed puzzle. They all lived happily ever after, the end.

Or at least, close enough, for now.

Brienne was wrenched abruptly from her thoughts as the two hidden housemates emerged loudly from behind Margaery’s locked door. As assumed, the aforementioned was tugging along the redhead wrapped in her entire duvet, her eyes barely open. It appeared as if they had gone from being attached at the hip to actually needing to be surgically removed from each other, but it wasn’t like Brienne could say she was very surprised.

“Good morning, my sweetlings,” Margaery greeted cheerfully, followed by what could only be described as a grunt of acknowledgment of life from Sansa. There were simultaneous groans of protest as she threw back the blackout curtains, causing natural light to stream into the room.

It was gorgeous and Brienne felt evilly smug about the unhappiness of her friends. Definitely karma for the night before.

Sansa detached herself and dropped to the floor, snuggling up against Brienne’s arm of the sofa, whereas Margaery went into their tiny kitchen to pour their own cups of coffee. “What did we miss? Do you guys have to be in class early today? I was hoping we could all get lunch together.”

The face Arya was pulling spoke for everyone. “Too fucking early to be this chipper, Tyrell.”

The light and conversation had awoken the sleeping blankets, Gendry’s dark head popping out from the beanbag, Theon merely slapping a hand over his eyes and groaning. Margaery ignored them entirely, eying the two girls on the sofa with an expectant smile.

Brienne sighed. “I don’t have class until two, but I need to finish an essay this morning. I can meet you at the clock tower around twelve.” Her look turned towards Arya, praying to the Gods that she said yes. It wasn’t that she didn’t adore Sansa and Margaery, but they were known to be quite the troublemakers when left to their own devices. It only made sense that Brienne would be the easiest target for that, if they were the only three around at lunch.

Thankfully though, Arya just shrugged, with a reply of “I guess”.

After that, it settled back into a comfortable silence. The nice thing about being friends with these people was that they never tried too hard. Nobody ever forced a conversation if they didn’t feel it appropriate, for which Brienne was thankful. She stammered through conversations she didn’t want to be in half the time as it was, the last thing she needed was to be forced into more because her friends hated silence. She was by far a better listener than she was a speaker, which was why she got along so much better with bigger personalities than hers. She couldn’t imagine befriending someone who was as awkward as herself when it came to getting to know people.

Not that she really had too much time to enjoy the silence, what with the impending essay writing and whatnot.

She drained the last of her coffee, placing the empty mug down on the coffee table. She had slept away too much of the morning already - she should have been up an hour and a half ago. It was her own fault for not setting an alarm, and she felt guilt creeping up on her as she realised just how badly she’d been slacking in the recent months. Winter had a funny way of turning her life upside-down and making her feel like a completely different person.

Not anymore, she refused.

With summer arriving again, she was going to get back to her normal self. She was going to head into her third year of university in September, she was going to turn twenty four, and she was going to kick some ass. She was going to make sure of it.

  
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

  
She had only stopped back at the apartment to change clothes.

There was an incident with a cup of coffee, and Brienne had meant to be in and out of the flat as quickly as possible. She was already going to be fifteen minutes late to meet the other girls at this rate, and she cursed herself and her apparent inability to walk past people holding cups of coffee without stumbling over thin air. It was like she was disaster magnet. She had already tried scrubbing at her shirt in the coffee shop bathroom, drying it under the hand dryer, but it was useless. It needed to go in the laundry. It ended in her sprinting back to the flat, cursing herself for not having the balls to continue her runs throughout the wintery weather, as she now needed to work on her stamina again. Anyways, she was late.

She was late, and yet there she was, standing at the door, unable to walk out.

Yes, Brienne knew it was kind of creepy to stare out of the peephole in the front door. She knew it was the kind of thing that you imagined bald men in their fifties that only ever wore underwear and a robe doing when they lived opposite a group of young girls, such as her friends, but she couldn’t help herself. Look, nobody asked for a damn sex god to move in across the hall, that was all on him. He didn’t have to know, anyway.

It wasn’t like he was going to look at Brienne, out of all of her friends. She knew how it went, the way it had always been; not that she minded, she liked the idea of helping out her friends’ happiness just as much as she reveled in the idea of beating up some schmuck that hurt any one of them, too. So looking at this guy was the one guilty pleasure she took. Knowing that her friends had no idea that this guy existed, or else he would have already been the subject of many conversations.

How was she supposed to help herself from looking when the guy looked like the textbook idea of the most attractive man on the planet?

No, Brienne wasn’t that shallow. Being real, growing up with the way she looked, she had no ground to stand on when it came to judging looks. It wasn’t even judging - more admiring. It was definitely appreciation. Plus, she knew when it came down to it, she wasn’t someone to base attraction entirely on the way someone looked, but seven hells, it would basically be an insult to everyone who had never had the pleasure of looking at this man if she didn’t ogle while she had the chance. That was a hill she would die on.

He had a jawline that appeared to be carved by the Gods themselves and hair that somehow looked perfectly in place but tousled and messy at the same time. It made Brienne flush, thinking what she’d do to get her fingers in those locks. He was tall, too. Almost as tall as her, which was very impressive, although the idea of staring into his eyes as they were face to face made Brienne feel flush further into a dark, uncomfortable red, even in her mind. Gods, she couldn’t even be seductive in a completely imaginary scenario.

Also, the way he was leaning over to reach into his mailbox showed off his arse, and it was absolutely a twenty five on a one to ten scale.

Brienne hadn’t realized she wasn’t alone in the apartment, otherwise she would have never dared to do this kind of thing. Margaery appeared out of thin air, her voice loud and chirpy as she wrapped both of her arms around Brienne’s arm, trying to maneuver her way to the peephole. “What are you staring at? Can I look?”

Flushing harder, she stepped aside and let her have her way. The way that Margaery’s jaw dropped was almost comedic, and Brienne would have laughed if she didn’t feel so damn ashamed of herself for getting caught out like this.

“Oh my fuck, that is a man and a half,” she whispered breathily. “The things I would let him do to me. Brienne, oh my God. Oh my God.”

“I know.”

“Sweet Jesus, look at his ass in those trousers! I fucking love a man in a suit, come to mama,” she growled.

The look on Brienne’s face was absolutely scandalized and she knew that she was turning almost completely purple. “Oh my god, Marge, be quiet!”

Thankfully, that prompted her to step back from the door, turning to face her taller friend. “Oh come on, Bri, don’t be such a prude. You were looking first! Don’t pretend that you weren’t thinking exactly the same thing. I would climb that like a fucking tree.”

Brienne just wrung her hands frustratedly, knowing she had no comeback to that. Damn Margaery and her mind reading abilities. Seemingly satisfied with her inability to answer, Margaery flung herself into Brienne’s arms, a smug smile forming on her lips.

“He is definitely the hottest man I have ever seen in my life. How have we not seen him before? Did he just move in? Did you know he was here all along and not tell us?” she gasped, her face morphing from a smirk into a perfect ‘O’ shape. It wasn’t even a mocking tone, Margaery was definitely upset that she wasn’t informed of this mans existence. Brienne shrugged guiltily, her gaze dropping to her feet.

“He’s been here a while, I guess.”

That earned her a smack on the arm. “You knew?! You snake! How could you not tell me?” Margaery cried, turning to glance back at the door quickly, as if she could see straight through it to him. “Is it a jealousy thing? Did you call dibs?” Her eyebrow quirked evilly and Brienne hated that she could basically see the cogs turning in her mind. The last thing she needed was her getting ideas.

“Dibs isn’t a real thing, Marge, please drop it. I just heard something coming from outside and had a look to see what it was.” Being able to lie through her teeth smoothly wasn’t one of Brienne’s biggest talents, much to her dismay, but at least her friend seemed to accept the answer, dropping a hand onto her arm and giving it a light squeeze.

“Okay, I believe you. Let’s get going, or Arya’s going to kick us into next year for wasting her time,” Margaery said as she skipped away to grab her shoes. “You know you’ve totally put us all at risk, taking her to your krav maga class, right?”

Brienne just hummed half-heartedly in response, dropping her head into her hands. Her skin was still hot to the touch and that just made her angry. Nobody was ever going to be able to take her seriously when she couldn’t control her face. As if anyone wanted to have a conversation with someone that looked like a human tomato.  
She gave the door one last glance as she went to grab her shoes, saying a silent goodbye to the man at the mailbox. No more creepy watching for her.

Focus on realistic situations. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's bonding at the pub and arguments over alcohol. Brienne just loves her friends a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apologies for a shorter chapter lacking in Jaime, but he will be showing up in the next chapter, so fear not. This is really just more introduction to the sort of group dynamic, which I hope is okay.  
> I'll be honest, I'm a bit scared of posting this chapter, not only because it's shorter but because I am godawful at writing dialogue and everything in here feels a bit forced and off, idk.  
> I'm still working out a regular upload schedule for this fic, but I hope to upload once a week, twice if I'm good. I'm not sure if I'll stick to specific days or not so you may want to subscribe to be notified instead of relying on my terrible time management skills.  
> Thank you so, so much for the feedback so far, it makes me so beyond happy to read what you guys think of this. Any and all feedback - positive or negative - means so much to me and I'm really looking forward to working on this with with you all. I hope I can keep updating enough to fill your Braime fix.
> 
> \- i'm not getting into the deep depths of trying to work out actual monetary values in the asoiaf universe so one dragon = £1, 5 dragons = £5, etc  
> \- westerspoons = wetherspoons, crappy uk pub franchise that serves cheap alcohol and underpays their employees

The atmosphere in the The Wolf and The Hound was the closest thing to home, Brienne thought. The badly painted white brick walls, the old crumbling stone fireplace in the corner, the warm yet dimmed lights and the small booths tucked away next to the window - their booth. It filled her with comfort. 

There was always the same debate before the flatmates decided to go out. Margaery and Sansa would fight endlessly for their nights to be spent in Westerspoons, but no amount of 6 dragon cocktail pitchers would be enough to convince Arya and Brienne to go to a bar run by Tories. At least with The Hound, they knew that Sandor Clegane paid his employees enough to survive on a monthly basis. 

Brienne had a strong feeling that Margaery’s opposition to the pub lay somewhere within Sandor’s known affections towards Sansa; her usual saccharine smile almost looked poisonous whenever he called her friend ‘little bird’. 

Luckily, no amount of chanting and table banging ever beat out Arya and Brienne’s argument, so they always ended up in the pub, regardless. 

The pub was almost completely empty; while not a new development, it did leave the group curious as to how Sandor managed to keep the place up and running. ‘I’ve done a lot of favors’ was the man’s shrugged response,ultimately leaving their curiosity completely unsatisfied but they knew better than to ask any more. There were only three other people perched at a table on the opposite side of the small room, speaking in hushed voices. That was another comfort of the place, Brienne supposed. It was very rare that the bar was so packed that they felt out of place or unwelcome. It was nice knowing that the group could show up at any given time and they could sit for as long as they wanted, maybe joined by Sandor or Pod, the bartender, without fear of being interrupted. 

“-and this one is from the night I told the boys I missed Vine, so we smoked and watched a ton of compilation videos, then Gendry dared me to get one tattooed, so Theon did it for me,” Arya explained to Pod, showing him the dreadful stick and poke tattoo of the word ‘yeet’. Pod, the poor lad, looked almost torn between confusion at the pure lunacy of the younger Stark girl and filled with blind admiration. 

Sandor snorted from where he was sat across the table. “Fuckin’ idiot girl, you are.”

Arya’s response came with a wolfish grin. “It got so infected that I had to go to A&E because it was all, like, oozing and shit. Theon totally cried because he thought I was gonna die. It was sick.”

And people thought being the mum friend was easy, Brienne sighed inwardly, taking a sip of her beer. 

Having younger friends just made her feel that much older, and she wondered whether she really did miss out by not having a wild phase during her teen years. Then again, she wasn’t sure anyone really had the balls to do half of the stuff that Arya did willingly, and Sansa most definitely did not approve of her younger sister’s wild streak, so perhaps she wasn’t the odd one out. 

Sansa and Margaery were sat next to Arya, talking almost silently between themselves. Brienne, squished against the wall of the booth with Pod and Sandor beside her, was pretty sure that they were holding hands under the table. She made a mental note to slip it into conversation somehow with one of them, her curiosity getting the best of her. Not that she was nosy or anything.

Out of nowhere, Margaery stood, slamming her palms down on the table to grab everyone’s attention. “You’re all boring, so I’m going to buy shots,” she announced.

“No vodka!”

“Ugh, please don’t get tequila!”

“Jägerbombs! Jägerbombs! Jägerbombs!”

“Hush up, children,” Margaery snapped. The smile on her face betrayed the harsh tone of her voice, but she succeeded silencing the the shouting from around the table nonetheless. Brienne sat silently, not wanting to get involved. She hated shots, no matter what was bloody in them. “I’m buying whatever I fancy, and so long as it’s coming out of my pocket, you’ll be quiet and take it gratefully.”

Sansa and Pod had the grace to look slightly ashamed with themselves, whereas Arya just rolled her eyes. “Okay, sugar mama, don’t blame me when someone’s puking black tar all over the living room floor because of your horrible choices.”

“I’m not the one that likes Sambuca, Arya.”

“It tastes like liquorice, what’s not to like?”

“Ugh, your lack of taste is offensive,” Margaery cringed. With a shake of her head, she head over to the bar. Everyone watched eagerly as she skillfully poured out the shots, with the exception of Sandor, who looked as if he’d never been so bored in his entire life. When she came back over to the table, chaos broke out once again.

“Who the fuck asked for this fruity shit?” Arya complained, while Sansa leaned across to take her shot from the tray, grinning. 

Margaery ignored her for a moment, handing out everyone else’s shots. Pod took his with a grateful smile while Sandor just gave the brunette a slight nod in thanks. Brienne tried her best to conjure up a smile as she took hers, murmuring her thanks under her breath. She got the feeling that her smile came across a lot more like a miserable grimace than it did anything of happiness. “It’s a skittlebomb, some of us like to drink alcohol that doesn’t taste like death in a cup.”

They all raised their shot glasses in cheers, Sansa quietly saying ‘clink’ as their plastic cups all met in the middle. It took all her willpower within for Brienne not to express her distaste out loud as she downed the shot. The energy drink sickeningly sweet and the taste of the Cointreau was overbearing. Her nose crinkled in disgust as she grabbed her beer and took a sip, trying to get the aftertaste out of her mouth. Pod glanced at her, his expression mirroring hers, and merely gave him a pity pat on the shoulder. Poor Pod, poor naive, innocent Pod. For a bartender, he seemed about three years too young and far too innocent to even know anything about alcohol. He also seemed all too young and sweet to be hanging out with the likes of them, and by ‘them’, she really meant Arya and Margaery. Sansa was much less demonic and evil as the other two.

Leaning forward on the sticky table, Brienne folded her arms and propped her chin on her first. She was glad when Sansa’s gaze met her, and they both smiled warmly. “When do you have to get the last of your coursework in?” 

The redhead groaned, her smile dissipating into a frown. “Ugh, don’t even remind me. I’ve got two dresses to finish stitching for next week, an essay, my sketchbook to finish and we’re already supposed to be thinking about our dissertation. We haven’t even reached third year yet and we have to come up with ideas for it now,” she ranted. Brienne nodded in sympathy. Sure, she wasn’t researching the history of fashion designers as much as she was the history of Westerosi dictators and the war-torn histories of the cities of Essos, but essays were a bitch no matter the subject. 

“Hey, at least you have more practical work to be done,” Brienne reasoned. “I’ve had to type up so many reports I don’t think I can actually read words if they’re on a screen anymore.”  
Memories of her childhood caretaker Roelle lecturing her on how her eyes would go square if she sat too close to screens, or how she’d need glasses if she spent too long on electronics flooded her mind, and she thanked the Seven that it was all a bullshit myth. The last thing she needed was any more reason to attract attention to herself.

The laugh her friend let out was one of disbelief. “Tell that to my fingers! Over this week, I’ve had more pricks in me than Margaery, and that’s saying a lot.” Her words were blunt and Margaery turned to throw her a scowl, but Sansa just replied by blowing her a kiss and smiling back. “I can’t wait to be finished with studying this stuff. I just want to get out into the big wide world and make something for myself, you know?” 

The way her eyes sparkled almost made Brienne her want to ‘aww’ out loud and pinch her cheeks. She looked so bright and hopeful. Brienne swore she’d be the first person waiting to pummel anyone who tried to take that hope and faith from her. Sansa was like her baby.

“You’re going to be the best dressmaker the world has ever seen. You’ll have lines out the door begging for a custom Sansa Stark design. I’ll be first in line, just you wait and see,” she promised. It brought a smile to her own face seeing her friend’s shy smile, her cheeks turning pink - a cute pink, like you read in books, not the head to toe tomato look that Brienne fashioned. Damn Sansa’s ability to be blessed with the looks and the personality of an angel. “You deserve to be happy.”

Her heart swelled as Sansa leaned across the table to take her hands, her eyes soft and gentle as she held Brienne’s gaze. “You are far too good for this world, Brienne. And I am happy, you know.” 

Brienne didn’t miss the very quick flicker of her eyes, darting to Margaery.

“I have the best group of friends in the universe, what more could I ask for?”

What more could she ask for? If the not-so-subtle looks gave anything away, Brienne assumed that there was some kind of relationship going on with Margaery. So the best friends in the universe, a girlfriend and the uni course of her dreams. Brienne tried not to feel herself like she wasn’t missing out on the experience of falling in love for the first time. Of course, there had been Renly in her first year, but she’d sooner kill somebody before admitting to having feelings for him, and it sure as hell wasn’t love.

She wasn’t bitter, she swore. If anything, she was all the more pleased that two of her best friends had found happiness in each other. But still, that part of her betrayed her heart and turned her slightly green with envy. When would someone look at her the way that Sansa and Margaery looked at each other? 

Sure, Brienne was no instagram model, but come on, it’s 2019, it’s got to be trendy to be ugly soon, right? If those ugly 90’s shell tracksuits could come back into fashion, so could crooked noses and far too many freckles.

At least she had this, Brienne thought as she turned to watch Pod giggling like a child at Margaery and Arya, Sansa putting her gin and tonic aside so she could enthusiastically join in, arms thrown around shoulders singing along badly to Careless Whisper - and whatever this was, it was way more than she ever thought she’d have for herself, she smiled as she flung an arm around Pod’s shoulder to join in with the singing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided that I'll be uploading every Thursday from now on for sure and maybe dropping in a short chapter or fillers whenever I see fitting, or I've got silly ideas. 
> 
> Once again, feedback is very much appreciated. All the love and thanks to you all.

The morning after slammed into Brienne like a train. She didn’t even remember drinking that much, but somehow the throbbing in her head was convincing her otherwise. Her alarm beeped annoyingly from her bedside table, and she reached to smack it onto the floor, silencing it. 

She was never letting Margaery ply her with alcohol again - which was what she told herself every single time this happened.

The night had ended with the girls collapsed in the living room. Margaery and Sansa were giggling and talking in hushed voices while Arya had rummaged through the fridge and pulled out multiple boxes labeled ‘property of Sansa Stark’ and was digging into them, slapping the sticky notes onto Margaery’s arm. Brienne didn’t think she even noticed, too busy stealing sips of Sansa’s wine and whispering some things into her ear that were clearly making the Stark girl flustered. 

She didn’t mean to grimace, but her mind flashed back to her and Arya leaving the couple-not-couple doing whatever it was they were doing alone in the living room so that they could go to bed, and suddenly every piece of furniture seemed unsafe. It was very, very obvious that the girls were all over each other, much to no one’s surprise. Oh Gods, she would have to scrub the entire flat down and replace the sofa covers. There was no way that the living room was going to become a communal sex area. No.

There were going to have to be very stern talks before they were left alone in places, Brienne decided. Just to be safe.

Groaning, she forced herself to get out of bed and stretch. Her bones cracked satisfyingly and she could have moaned out loud at how damn good it felt. She could really only curse herself for dropping her habit of early morning runs throughout the long winter months in favor of staying in bed with a cup of tea for an extra hour or two, because she was clearly going to be paying the price off over the summer trying to get back into the habit. Her stretching session was short and limited thanks to the lack of space in her small bedroom and her muscles burned as she attempted to get them warmed up a bit before she faced the outside world. What better way to get over a killer hangover than to force yourself to run a few miles in the not-quite-warm morning air and have that kill you instead? Much healthier than scarfing down a McDonalds breakfast and a vat of coffee, like Arya would insist on. 

Not exercising was very, very bad in Brienne’s mind. When you don’t exercise, you over think. You can’t over think if you’re too busy trying to keep your breathing even. Sure, it was nice that she was naturally a rather athletic person and enjoyed the rush of energy and the ache of her muscles after an hour or so of good work, but that was just a bonus. The real prize was not having to think about all the shit in her life that she would eventually have to deal with, like finishing her all of her coursework on time, finding a job that pays enough money that she can survive on it, going back to Tarth to face her childhood trauma and her father who probably hated her for leaving, oh, and coming to terms with her fate of eternal singledom. 

Ever the optimist, Brienne huffed as she slid into her jogging bottoms and prayed that she wasn’t so out of shape that she would dry heave in public as she pushed herself to run further than she could probably handle. 

Stepping into the narrow hallway, she bumped straight into Margaery, who for the first time that Brienne had ever seen, blushed. It wasn’t even because she was completely naked, like the other time they bumped into each other, and Margaery definitely hadn’t blushed then. Through the small gap left where the door was open, Brienne could see Sansa in bed. That might have something to do it. 

“I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to you first,” the brunette whispered, looking mildly guilty, which confused Brienne.

“Why? You don’t have anything to apologise for.”

“Well, no, but things have been like this for a while and…you and Arya didn’t sign up to live with a couple.”

Smiling, half out of comfort and the other half from being the absolute worst friend who had no clue what to say, Brienne placed a hand on Margaery’s elbow. “Arya lets Gendry blare trap music at 3am and never locks the front door and none of us signed up for _that_. I’m happy for you.”

The relief caused Margaery’s shoulders to visibly drop, so much so that she just sloped forward and entangled herself with Brienne’s long limbs in a very awkward hug. “Thank you.”

With a short but comforting rub on the back, Brienne unwrapped herself from the hug and parted with a knowing smile that Margaery returned, blushing again. She seemed happy and that in turn made Brienne happy. She was sure that yes, parts of living with a couple were going to be weird, but as long as things didn’t change too much, everything could continue like normal. 

Arriving at the front door, she kicked through the messy pile of shoes at the door to find her trainers. It was like looking for flippers in a pile of children's shoes, and that familiar jolt of embarrassment struck her painfully. It was easier now than it was when she was younger, but she was only human, of course it wasn’t avoidable. There was only so much about herself that she could ignore or pretend she didn’t dislike. 

_Get your shit together, Brienne._

She grabbed her door keys from the bowl on the side table, then flung open the front door,

And walked directly into someone else. 

Yes, the last thing Brienne expected when she stepped out of the front door was to be mere inches away from someone’s face. Someone who had very lovely eyes, she noted, but it didn’t exactly negate her shock. 

The lovely eyes moved further back and she could feel her body doing that stupid thing where it turned red from head to toe and the harder she tried to contain it, the faster and darker it went. She could feel her face burning and she refrained from fanning herself in a pathetic attempt to chill out.

It was the hot neighbour.

The very neighbour she’d been spying on only the other day.

Oh dear.

She was suddenly very aware that she was wearing a tank top that didn’t fit properly anymore and she was pretty sure there was a ketchup stain somewhere on her joggers.

He’d had his fist raised, clearly prepared to knock on her front door, but he moved it to run through his hair instead. This was a cruel trick from the Gods.

He had a small smirk playing on his lips. “Are you psychic?”

Words.

How to word.

“No, I’m Brienne. Can I help you?” she forced out bluntly, thanking the Gods that she didn’t stammer at all. If he was offended at her abrasive behavior, he didn’t show it. His smirk turned into a grin. He laughed, and Brienne couldn’t help but notice that was nicer to listen to than any of the music saved on her iTunes and the slight raspy sound to it was making her feel some kind of way. 

“Well, Brienne, despite what these letters are telling me,” he started, raising a hand holding a small stack of post, “I am neither a Ms Sansa Stark, or a Miss M Tyrell, so I’m thinking that our postman should have gone to Specsavers.”

Her hand tentatively reached out to take the letters and she did her best to put a smile on her face. Thankfully, he matched her smile with a smirk, his hands dropping back down to fit into his pockets.

Seven hells, he really was beautiful.

“Um, thank you for letting me know,” she said, “hopefully the delivery guy will invest in some glasses soon.”

The smirk returned to the man’s face and his eyes flickered over her; to her surprise, it almost looked appraising.  
“I don’t know, I think I’d be alright if he took his time.”

Well, that fucking did it. 

Brienne’s face flooded with heat again, and fuck, fuck, fuck, she knew she was turning purple but breathing suddenly seemed impossible and she didn’t know how to process his words. He was taking the piss. Five minutes, they’d known each other, and he was already making fun of her. Her eyebrows started to furrow in anger, ready to tear into the bloke who dared to start shit with her at nine in the morning before she’d even had a cup of tea. Not today, sir, not on-

But he spoke before she could.

“You have nice eyes, by the way.”

His eyes bore into hers and she found herself unable to tear away from the look. Something about it was so intense and way too intimate for two neighbours meeting in a hallway for the first time. She fought to stop her hands from shaking, shoving them into her own pockets to stop herself. So not only was it not an insult, it was a compliment - a very nice, flattering compliment. What was there to even say to something like that? 

“Um, thank you. You do too.” She almost winced at how small her voice came out sounding.

 _Yes, the blonde version of the incredible hulk that gets shy, blushes and talks like a nervous school girl, he must be utterly charmed_. 

Luckily, the other man either didn’t notice her inner turmoil, merely giving her a small chuckle and a smile before his glance shot back to his front door. “I should probably let you leave.”

Brienne agreed with a hum, even if her insides were screaming ‘no’. _Shut up, insides_. 

“I’ll see you around, Brienne,” he grinned, flashing that ridiculous grin that was almost blinding and of course he had a fucking dimple because _why wouldn’t he_? 

“You never gave me your name.”

“Maybe you can find out next time.” His tone was teasing and there was mischief glinting in his eyes and everything about this man made Brienne want to scream very, very loudly. With a leaving glance, he shot her another smirk before he spun on his heel and went back into his apartment, leaving her alone in the hallway with a handful of post and her jaw on the ground. 

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

The next day, when it happens again, Brienne finds out that her neighbour’s name is Jaime and he’s lived in the building for a month and a half. 

The third time, they talk about how it’s no longer a coincidence and whether either of them should actually talk to postman and see what on earth is going on.

The fourth time, they decide against that completely and Brienne mentions her morning runs. Jaime smiles and jokes about joining her. She laughs and jokes back, but is shocked when he emerges not five minutes later wearing trainers and his own jogging bottoms. They both turn out to be extremely competitive and end up racing each other, and by the time they get back the apartments they’re laughing and out of breath, but Brienne thinks it’s actually kind of nice to run with someone else, instead of in silence.

Then on the fifth time, everything changed. 

Their exchange had started the same, he smiled, handed over the post, ran his stupid hand through his stupid hair and flashed that stupid smirk at her, _etcetera_ , but when Jaime walked back to his door and pulled out his keys, something red glinted under the ugly fluorescent hallway lighting and Brienne’s heart quite literally stops working properly for a moment. His keyring.

“Widow’s Wail!” She blurted before she could stop herself. He turned around, his eyebrows raised in surprise. She knew her face was turning purple, but there was no way she was wrong. There was no way that it could be anything else. 

“You’ve watched The Winds of Winter?” There was no hiding the surprise in his voice, his mouth set awkwardly as if he wanted to say something else, but nothing else left his mouth. His hands, though, were fumbling with the metal sword attached on his keys. 

Brienne let out a stiff shrug as she tried to force herself to relax. “Um, yes. It’s my favourite tv show, probably…ever.”

The grin that lit up Jaime’s face could have had her collapsing from all of the weight flying off of her shoulders. Her entire body relaxed, no longer tensed arms with clenched fists came to fold across her chest and she returned his smile warmly. Now this was something she could talk about easily, for hours on end. Nobody could get her started when she began.

The pure joy on his face on his face was something she wasn’t expecting to see, though. “I watched every season religiously when it came out, but I’ve never had anyone else to talk about it with. My brother couldn’t stand it. I’ve never met anyone else who had watched it,” he said, his voice racing as fast as her heart. There was no hesitance anymore.

“You’ve never had anyone to talk about it with? Gods, how did you survive? Even after the final season? Seven hells. I forced my roommate Arya to watch all five seasons just so I could have someone to rant about it with!” 

“No, I got very drunk and tweeted some very choice words to the writers.” His laugh sounded just the tiniest bit hysterical, which brought Brienne a bit of relief. Thank the Gods she wasn’t the only one driven to insanity by a damn TV show. “You know, I signed that petition to get them to make another season to replace the last one.”

“Jaime, it was a total cult show, there were only about two hundred people left watching it by the end, I can’t believe that was a real thing,” she laughed. His grin only seemed to grow wider, making Brienne’s cheeks warm. She wasn’t sure she’d ever met anyone else who even knew about the show, yet was as enthusiastic about it as she was; she wasn’t even sure she’d had a true bonding moment before with someone like this. Arya hadn’t been as angry about the ending as she had, and had only met her rants about the golden knight’s character arc collapse with a roll of her eyes and annoying quips about foreshadowing. Jaime, on the other hand, seemed to be just as riled up as she was.

“I hated it,” he spat, his face twisting into an expression of disgust and hatred. “I was angry for months, it was so stupid.”

“It completely ruined the rest of the show! I’ve never been able to rewatch it, it just makes my blood boil now.”

“Me too! Oh, the character assassination was like nothing I’d ever seen before. The way they killed the Queen? So underwhelming, and the knights were completely out of character. I think it might have been the worst heartbreak I’ve ever dealt with, if I’m being honest.”

Brienne sighed, her shoulders shaking as she let out a sad laugh. “Oh Gods, this is just making me miserable all over again. I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.” Her hands clutched at her chest limply. 

She remembered absolutely everything about her first time watching the show. Remembered how she felt when she watched the first episode and saw the Blue Knight, she was tall and quiet and mysterious and she was a woman knight. It felt ridiculous, but Brienne knew that was where her interest in History originally stemmed from. Of course, someone could only pry that secret from her cold dead hands, but it was fascinating to her. She remembered watching episodes on her laptop in the dark, tucked under duvet covers and trying not to be too loud as she gasped and cried out as she was caught up in the medieval world. She remembered her dad’s face when he found her crying in her bedroom and she’d sat and sobbed on his shoulder that they ruined absolutely everything, and her father clearly had no damn idea what to do so he just sat and stroked her back until she stopped being sad. He also sat by and dealt with her going through the five stages of grief, not even making quips about how it was only a TV show. Instead, he let her rant away, nodding in agreement throughout all of her speeches, even though he’d never even seen the show. Perhaps he was just glad that she was crying over TV shows and not doing class A drugs, underage drinking, having sex in public parks, or something, like other teenagers her age. 

“I miss it, now that we’ve spoken about it. I might have to prepare myself for my first rewatch.”

“Why would you subject yourself to that pain all over again?” Brienne’s jaw fell slack in genuine confusion. He only shrugged.

“The first three seasons were some of the best TV possibly of all time, I think I have to brave it.”

“You’re the bravest man I’ve ever met.”

There was a teasing glint in Jaime’s eyes as his eyes met hers. “You should rewatch it with me.”

Protests fell from her mouth quickly and she shook her head in complete denial. She’d sworn that she was never touching her boxset again. There was no way she was mentally strong enough to handle it all over again. He only persisted, though.

“Think about it. We’ll finally be able to talk about it as it happens! You can finally share all your angry thoughts, and me, mine!” he reasons, his voice almost pleading, before an evil smile teases his lips, “I may even let you cry on my shoulder when the gold knight gives blue Oathkeeper.”

That drew a snort out of Brienne. “You think I cried at that? Is that because _you_ cried at it?” 

The tiniest hint of pink touching his cheekbones that betrayed his wicked grin was the only answer she needed to that question.

“You know you’ll come crawling eventually,” he said, his voice light and teasing as he jammed the key into his door, but he turned back to her once his door was opened wide. Suddenly his face was less playful and his smile more serious. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll inevitably see you tomorrow, wench.”

Calling her the nickname that the Golden Knight gave Blue. That was the cheapest move in the book. The absolute cheapest.

All it did was convince her that the show was definitely worth a rewatch and she would most definitely be up until two in the morning thinking about all of the alcohol she would need to consume to grow the balls to take Jaime up on his offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol at me tagging this as slow burn then shoving jaime into brienne's life like a hurricane. i'm very sorry, i just didn't want to write the same scene five times over with little change, and honestly, i wanted to get this shit on the move.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne gets locked out of her flat and Jaime insists on saving the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In advance, I'd like to sincerely apologise. This chapter has gone above and beyond kicking my ass and I feel I have made a terrible mistake in trying to write a full story with this. From now on, chapters may seem more situational and isolated as opposed to in a linear timeline. I am extremely apologetic about this, but I'm finding it very difficult to crank out chapters that follow one by one and I'm desperate to get to the good stuff, aka braime fluff. I'm well aware this would have been better off as a long one-shot, but alas, I will not let anyone down. Small time skips may become more frequent, though, so I hope that's okay.
> 
> As always, feedback; negative or positive, is always welcome, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

_Seven bloody hells._

Brienne’s foot bashed against the front door again as she tried to get the attention of anyone who was inside. To her dismay, there was still no answer. Repeatedly knocking her foot against the door, she pulled her phone out of her pocket; the biggest benefit of wearing mens jeans being that she actually had pockets, not the stupid fake ones that her friends complained about, or the shallow tiny ones that wouldn’t even fit a quarter of a phone in. She swiped away her solitary notification - just her reminder app telling her to drink enough water, and opened the group whatsapp.

**B: Are any of you home?**  
**S: no, sorry, i’m with robb and jon!**  
**A: nah mate**  
**B: Either of you know where Marge is?**  
**A: nah mate**  
**S: she said she was going to be home, why?**  
**B: Forgot my keys.**  
**S: idk, if not maybe she’s with loras and ren**

“Margaery! Are you in there?” she called, her first hammering loudly against the door again even though she already knew she wasn’t going to get a response. She tapped out a quick message to both Loras and Renly, asking if she was with either of them.

She should have known something was going to go horribly wrong, considering her day had been going far too smoothly up until that point. She’d woken up at six, perfectly on time for her normal run, had an entire shower without the water turning cold five minutes in, her hair had been surprisingly compliant and was actually sitting rather nicely as opposed to her usual birds nest and Sansa had made her breakfast, even putting up some of her ever-efficiently labeled blueberries into her yogurt for her. To top it off, Sandor had text her to let her know that he was looking for a bartender and that she could have a trial shift that evening, if she was still looking for a job. It was like she’d taken a step into a bizarre parallel universe where everything was nice.

Shame that it was all to lead up to her getting trapped outside of her flat, knowing that her keys were infuriatingly sitting just next to the door. It was only two in the afternoon. Her shift didn’t start until six, and with the way her luck was taunting her, her flatmates probably wouldn’t come home for another six hours.

Her shoulders shoulders slumped in defeat as she returned her phone to her pocket.

She easily could have headed back to the library, which she knew was the smartest idea; pass her time by studying. But considering she had just left there, due to Ron Connington and his dimwit friends choosing to crowd her table and throw aggravating comments at her, and the prospect of going back made her stomach turn and her jaw tighten. There was nothing that she wanted to do more than dropkick that his head back into the portal to the fiery depths of the hell that he came from.

Her head thumped back at against the door, letting herself slide down until she was sat on the floor. She sighed, wallowing in self-pity for a second. Before she could stand to leave, the door opposite her opened and Jaime stepped out. He raised his eyebrow quizzically at her.

“What was all that thumping? Were you having a fist fight with your door?” His tone was teasing, and that drew an irritated huff out of Brienne. Her arms crossed roughly against her chest.

“Left my keys inside. Was hoping somebody was home,” she answered, her voice clipped. Jaime frowned down at her before sticking his left hand out towards her. She stared at his hand for a moment before her gaze flicked up to his face. The hesitance and confusion mapped out on her face caused him to chuckle, shaking his head.

“I’m trying to help you up so you can come into my place, you fool.”

Brienne felt her neck begin to redden as she gnawed at her bottom lip. His second laugh was accompanied with a look of exasperation. “I promise, it’s a nice flat, if you can look past the torture dungeon and the dead bodies. Will you hurry up already? The offer isn’t going to stand for much longer.”

There was a comfortable routine between the two of them. The mail swap, the jogging and the prompt goodbye. It worked, it was safe. Despite their earlier conversations, she had avoided mentioning his invitation to rewatch their favourite TV show together. Not to say that she wasn’t tempted to, but Brienne would never make the first move. Sure, she wanted to get to know him better; he wound her up in a way that made her snap like nobody else did, he teased and poked at her and caused her to blush like an idiot, but he also made her laugh and she liked how easy it felt to be around him. That was the issue, she thought. It was too easy to get used to his presence, and that only meant that she would inevitably get attached and her heart would break when he snapped out of whatever delusion was affecting him and notice that he’d made a huge mistake trying to befriend her.

She wasn’t stupid. It wasn’t like she hadn’t heard people refer to her as ‘the boring one’, or ‘Brienne the beauty’, or even straight up told her to her face that she was a killjoy. Though she didn’t know herself what Jaime’s idea of fun was, she could guarantee that it wasn’t going to be the same as hers. There was a reason she was known as the sensible friend; why she slipped so simply into the the role of the mum friend - she took care of the fun friends because she wasn’t one of them. You wouldn’t find her in a club on the dance floor, or in the smoking area entertaining a large group of friends. Not that she liked to assume things, but Jaime definitely looked like the kind of person who would be the center of attention in a club, all smiles and flirting. She told herself that she was doing him a favor by saving both of their time. It was just that she hadn’t counted on Jaime being so stubborn.

With a roll of his eyes, he had grabbed her hand and pulled her up, making her stumble into him slightly. It didn’t appear to deter him, though, as he tugged her forward and began to walk her through his front door.

If Brienne hadn’t lived across the hall, she wouldn’t have even considered that his flat was in the same building as hers. It had the same layout - two long hallways branching off either end of the large living room and kitchen, but bar that, it was entirely different. The floor was hardwood, unlike the patchy carpet riddled with cigarette burns and suspicious stains in Brienne’s flat, and the walls were bare brick. Sleek and modern counters lined his kitchen, and his living room had leather sofas that looked entirely too expensive to even sit on. For Gods sake, he even had a thick white fur carpet sat in front of the huge TV that sat above his fireplace - it was an expensive playboy-esque sex den and she felt entirely ridiculous and out of place standing there.

As if reading her mind, Jaime let out an embarrassed laugh. “I know, it’s, um, unique. I guess I kind of asked for it when I let my brother have free reign on decorating the place,” he shrugged.

Brienne ignored the jolt of relief that went through her, pushing it deep down away inside of her.

Letting go of her hand, he motioned towards the sofa, prompting her to go and take a seat as he stepped into his kitchen. As soon as she sat down, she knew she was never going to be getting back up. The seat was more comfortable than her bed, it was like sinking into a cloud. She watched from her spot as he filled a mug up with boiling water - of course, he had one of those fancy taps that exclusively poured boiling water, because fuck kettles, right? Brienne sunk further into the sofa, almost willing herself to disappear as he returned to her with a cup of tea and a smirk on his face.

“It’s pretty comfortable, right?”

“Just a little,” she offered weakly as Jaime dropped into the space beside her. She tried to ignore how warm she became as their thighs touched, instead taking a sip of her scalding tea and flinching ever so slightly as she felt her tongue burn furiously. _Great,_ she thought _, it’s going to feel like licking carpet for the next few days_. Her eyes moved from her mug to meet Jaime’s eyes, unexpectedly finding him seemingly studying her face intently. Her entire body burned under his gaze, her eyes dropping back to her tea. “So, why are you home so early? Do you not have to work?”

He waved it away with a wide grin. “Playing hooky.”

Brienne frowned. “Won’t you get in trouble for that?” He wasn’t wearing his usual suit. She took in his jeans and the crimson polo, undoubtedly some huge brand name charging hundreds for the tiny logo printed over the breast pocket. Even in the most casual clothing, he made Brienne’s own shirt and jeans feel like a bin liner. No doubt he’d still look like a gods damn model in one of those, either.

“Ah, one of the many benefits of being a spoilt rich kid,” he said lightly with a smile, although his eyes were empty and cold as he spoke. “My father runs the company. I am supposed to be preparing to take his place as the CEO, even though my brother inherited all the brains and I was left with the model looks. I definitely do more harm when I’m there as opposed to when I’m bunking off.”

The brief smile on his face was rueful and bitter. It was the smallest moment, and it had disappeared before Brienne could confirm it was ever there, replaced by his trademark cocky grin. “Besides, I swept in to save your day. Where would you be if I hadn’t have been here? You should be thanking me, wench.”

She only scowled in response, falling into a comfortable silence as Jaime nattered away besides her. She was content to listen without speaking at all, and he seemed more than happy to chatter away, telling her all about growing up at Casterly Rock, the best places to eat in King’s Landing, his brother - the best friend he’d ever had, recounting countless tales of debauchery that left Brienne with a smile on her face as Jaime wiped away tears of laughter, before he’d turned to her and asked her about herself with a soft smile. In return, she told him of Tarth, smiled fondly when speaking about her father and her roommates, her athletic tendencies and her love for all things historical. It all but ran like a river from her mouth, and she was amazed at how easy it was to just sit and open up and talk to this man who’d invaded her life like it was something that occurred on a daily basis.

When it fell quiet between them, Jaime made more tea and suggested they start their rewatch - the one that Brienne had presumed to be a joke. Proving her assumptions mindless, he’d bragged about having them all downloaded so that he could watch them whenever he wanted, if needs be. She teased him, calling him an even bigger loser than her, and he’d battled her jokes with quick wit and a sharp tongue. It all fell into comfortable banter and quips about the show. They’d laughed at the meeting of Gold knight and Blue, quoting their words back to each other, admiring the training that would have gone into their swordfighting scenes, Jaime teasing her with the nickname ‘wench’ as Gold did. Before Brienne could begin to bring her brain back to the real world, almost two whole hours had passed since Jaime had found her and the pilot episode credits began to roll before them. Checking the time on her phone and glancing over her notifications, she resisted groaning.

“I should probably head back. Someone should be home by now,” she said, holding back the sigh that was desperate to escape her lips.

“Don’t feel the need to rush off, unless you have plans, obviously.”

“I have work. Well, a trial shift, but still, it’ll take a while to cook dinner and get ready.”

“Look at you and your work ethic. Where are you working?”

“Unfortunately, I can't lounge around on my bed of money all day long, like _some_ people. It’s the pub at the end of the road.”

“A pub? Never pegged you as one for slinging drinks, wench.”

“Wouldn’t usually, but a friend offered it, so wish me luck.”

Jaime cracked a smile, leading her to the door. “There’s no doubt you’ll be breaking glasses and drinking on the job before you know it. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

Brienne returned his grin with a flushed smile as she stepped out into the hallway, merely raising her hand in response to him saying goodbye. With the sound of his door closing behind her, Brienne beat on the front door. This time, Margaery was in front of her before she could even lower her fist.

“Sorry, doll, I was with Loras all afternoon,” she mentioned casually, her voice lacking any real sincerity. Brienne only narrowed her eyes as Margaery strut into the living room, wondering if she should mention that both Loras and Renly had replied to her message that they hadn’t seen her the entire day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime meets Brienne's friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, another chapter of complete and utter nonsense.  
> I mean it, this chapter really is nonsense. What is pacing and time within stories.  
> As it turns out, it isn't actually as easy as you'd think, writing a multi-chaptered romcom story when you aren't naturally funny nor very romantic. Not to mention that it's all very OOC, Arya mostly - I just love writing Arya as the headstrong kid who is feisty and wants to beat everyone up. Won't be more OOC than season 8 though so nbd.  
> I'm thinking about mixing it up and maybe throwing in a couple of chapters from Jaime's perspective, but I don't know, what do you guys think? There's a few things that still haven't been addressed obviously, like his hand, his surname, his family troubles, etc so that'll show up somewhere in the next couple of chapters.  
> I hope you all have a terrific week. <3

It was another week or so before Jaime met Brienne’s friends.

Her trial shift had gone well enough that Sandor Clegane had offered her the job as soon as she’d finished. With summer nearing, the bar even seemed to be getting a bit busier, much to her surprise. She’d never seen more than four groups of people in there at once, but Sandor told her that summertime was always their peak.

Halfway through June, her first official shift as a bartender fell on a Tuesday night. Even with their rise in popularity during the summer months, only Wednesdays, which were student nights in King’s Landing, Fridays and the weekend seemed to actually gain any traction, customer wise. Apart from her friends, who were busy bickering in their usual booth, there were a few odd people milling about by the time Brienne had yanked on her uniform - essentially just a black shirt and black trousers - when Jaime slid into the bar stool in front of her as she was loading the dishwasher.

“What can I g- what are you doing in here?”

“The lack of people in here makes complete sense if that’s how you’re greeting people, wench.” His grin was razor sharp and his eyes glinting in the warmth of the low lighting. She frowned at him, crossing her arms, but that only appeared to please him more, his smile widening.

“I’ve never seen you in here before now.”

“I’ve never had a reason to come here before now.”

Even though he basically threw the words away before leaning away to get a good look around the place, Brienne felt herself smiling before she could stop herself. There was no way she’d allow herself to be one hundred percent sure, not unless there was a billboard with _‘he’s talking about you, you twit’_ , but considering it alone set butterflies free in her stomach.

Instead of dwelling on the comment, she ignored it completely. She wasn’t going to willingly take an opportunity to embarrass herself over a misunderstanding. She made sure she focused on continuing to load the dishwasher rather than let herself be distracted entirely. The glasses were so clashing so loudly as she put them into the rack that she almost couldn’t hear her own thoughts, which was entirely welcome. It was mind numbing, like white noise. As she placed the last glass in and started the wash, she asked, “what can I get you to drink?”

“Whatever the finest bar wench in all of King’s Landing recommends.”

As cute as it was the first time he said it, she was going to smack him if he kept up with the whole ‘wench’ thing.  
It got old real quick, and Brienne was quick to understand why it pissed off the blue knight so much in The Winds of Winter.

She leant down to scan the mini fridge tucked underneath the counter. It wasn’t as if she really had the widest knowledge in alcohol. Past the one time she was invited to a camp out in the park when she was sixteen, where they drank WKD and pretended they were all living in Skins or something, ignoring that it had all turned out to be a stupid bet, she knew nothing about her own taste in alcoholic beverages. It had just become a habit to order whatever Sansa and Margaery were having and pray that it didn’t taste terrible. It wasn’t like she was a huge drinker anyway. Settling on a safe looking cider, she pulled the can out and placed it on the counter. Jaime seemed to inspect it for a moment before cracking it open. She was all too aware of the way he licked his lips and how his adam’s apple was all too prominent as he swallowed and what the fuck, Brienne didn’t even know that could possibly be attractive but all she knew was that she was turning very red and very flustered. So flustered that she managed to choke while trying to breathe normally.

This, according to her friends, was apparently the perfect time to approach and make themselves known.

“Let’s do shots, baby!” Margaery cheered, sliding onto the stall right next to Jaime with Sansa following her lead, sitting besides her. Arya stood to the side of them with her arms folded across her chest, rocking on her heels as Brienne began to unstack some clean shot glasses. The difference between the three of her friends was clear at that moment. Margaery had a knowing smirk on her face as she looked at Brienne, an eyebrow slightly raised. Sansa’s face was painted a delicate pink with her signature shy smile quirking her lips while Arya looked like she was about to commit mass homicide.

“I can’t believe you’ve abandoned me to work and now I’m stuck with these two,” she bit out, her eyes narrowed. “Do you think they care that I’m a third wheel? That I’m related to one of them? I can tell you now, Brienne, they don’t. I’ve had to watch them eye-fuck over the table and play footsie for the past hour. It’s bad enough dealing with them sober. Do you want to know the specific workings of sex between two women, Brienne? Because I didn’t. I didn’t want to know that, _but now I do_.”

Brienne was torn between collapsing on the floor in laughter and crying out of pity for the younger Stark, because dear lord, of course that was what they were doing. Jaime, on the other hand, was shaking so hard from his silent laughter that his drink was spilling slightly on the counter.

Arya didn’t miss this. She shot him a death glare. “The fuck are you laughing at, old man?”

Jaime snorted a hard laugh into his drink and it filled Brienne with silent glee that he had to cover his mouth and wipe it to stop himself from dripping onto the bar. She passed him a napkin before reaching to pat Arya’s hand in comfort. “I truly am so sorry. You can stay up here with me, if you want.”

Less could be said for the couple themselves, who looked entirely too pleased with themselves for besmirching their third wheel.

Arya merely glared as Brienne poured the shots and grabbed the first one she could reach with such enthusiasm and rage that half of it splashed onto the counter. She downed it, slammed it down then narrowed her eyes again. “Another.”

From his spot besides them, Jaime looked like he was honestly having the time of his life. The look on his face was one of a kid presented with Mcdonalds, a month off of school and a trip to Disneyland all in one. So full of pure, unadulterated delight that it sends Brienne into a fit of laughter.

Sandor obviously heard this from the store room as he stuck his head out the door. “Stop pissing about and get back to work!” he bellowed, his voice gruff. Brienne flushed and set about busying herself again.

Margaery was the first to introduce herself. She turned to him and leaned forward on the bar enthusiastically with what could only be deemed as a devious grin on her face. “I’m Margaery. How do you know Brienne?”

_Oh, like you don’t already know, you snake._

“Ah, the infamous Margaery, a pleasure. I’m Jaime,” he replied politely, sending a nod of greeting to both her and Sansa.

Her grin in response was wicked. “Good to know my reputation precedes me.”

Sansa swat at her shoulder with a frown before leaning in to introduce herself, too. Arya made no move, standing behind them with a face like a smacked arse. Brienne just sent her small sympathetic smiles, hoping she wouldn’t stay mad for too long.

In hopes of cheering the younger Stark up, Brienne grabbed a glass and made to pour her out a double jack and coke. There wasn’t much she could do in their situation, but surely shoving alcohol at her wouldn’t make it worse, right? One of her most cherished memories was when Pod, being the naive well-intentioned sweetheart he was, tried to cheer Arya up by letting her behind the bar where she drank straight from one of the taps, stole a bottle of Jack then had to sit on the metaphorical naughty step while Sandor quarantined the place and made her disinfect everything she touched. Pod, surprisingly, wasn’t fired after that. Sandor just knew Arya far too well.

Brienne never questioned it. Northerners were their own breed.

She returned to the conversation to all of her friends staring at her. That wasn’t worrying at all.

“I’m surprised you haven’t dropped a glass yet, you’re pretty smooth with this. Maybe you were born to be a bartender after all,” Jaime cocked an eyebrow at her.

Margaery cackled so loudly that several people turned to look in their direction. “Brienne is _very_ good with her hands.”

She flushed so hard she could feel her ears burning, reminding herself that murder wasn’t legal, almost missing Jaime murmuring ‘I’ll bet’ under his breath so quietly she wasn’t sure she was even supposed to be hearing it. It only made her burn more. This was why you never befriended people you desperately wanted to shag, even if there was no chance of it. 

Not to mention, she also wanted to shoot back that she was very good with her hands, because you _had_ to be to get the perfect head on beer, and to shake cocktails and pile trays high with glasses. It wasn't an innuendo, it was a _skill_. Granted, not one she knew she had until very recently, but it was still a bit tougher than she'd bargained for.

“Don’t you have to go home and watch Love Island or something?” Brienne deadpanned, her eyes set tensely on Margaery. Not that she appeared to give a single fuck, just grinning wider. Brienne was never one for blackmail, but she was honestly contemplating bringing up the old photos she and Sansa had laughed hysterically at of Margaery’s chav phase with her ugly joggers and crappy canvas bag from Sports Direct. Brienne was not going to be made a joke of by the woman who used to wear orange dream matte mousse foundation.

Sansa burst into laughter, wrapping her arms tight around her girlfriend’s shoulders. Margaery softened a bit, leaning into her. “Why so cold, B? I’m sure Jaime is interested in knowing _all_ the things you’re good at.”

Brienne ignored her, storming off to serve the woman who had just entered. She paste on her happy customer service face, trying to will away the fury in her body. The last thing she needed was to be publicly rejected by the most attractive man on the entire planet while she was working, looking like she did with a damn hormonal breakout on her face.

Luckily, when she turned back around, she found that Sandor had emerged from the store room and was joining in with whatever her friends were talking about.

She returned to her previous spot and began wiping the bar down mid-conversation.

“-coming in here and harassing my staff loudly, embarrassing them and making twats of yourselves in front of customers, you’re never coming back, you brats.” Sandor finished his rant with a flourish. Sansa, even though she had absolutely nothing to do it, was looking guiltier than ever. Arya rolled her eyes at him, whereas Margaery just looked at him with a charmed grin.

“You love us too much to kick us out. You’d never even have other customers if it wasn’t for us,” she reasoned.

It was kind of true.

“It’s okay, Sandor, we were going to get going in a minute anyway. We really did just miss having Brienne with us like usual,” Sansa apologised with that shy voice she used, knowing it could get her out of anything. The older man just nodded roughly with a grunt.

Margaery sighed and stood up. She leaned over the bar to give Brienne a kiss on the cheek and a quick wink. Arya downed the rest of her drink, pulled on her jacket and shot a nod at her. She watched as her friends began to bicker amongst themselves, arms linked in a way that was sure to block anybody trying to move past them. Arya glanced back and gave Sandor the finger before they opened the door and disappeared into the night.

Jaime was still sitting at the bar, nursing his drink in one hand and kicking his feet back and forth against the stool like a small child.

Things fell quiet as Brienne cleaned. Sandor went off to refill the tanks, so she got started on tidying up behind the bar again. Working on a slow night was infinitely worse than a fast night. Time seemed to drag by, and the awkward silence growing between her and Jaime made it almost insufferable. She felt like screaming.

Luckily, he chose then to speak up.

“Your friends are nice. Well, not the little one, but the other two.”

Brienne laughed, a half smile settling on her lips. “That would be Arya. She’s…unique.”

“That she is,” he laughed in agreement before the quiet fell back over them. It was less awkward that time round, though, and Brienne tried to find something to busy herself with instead of watching Jaime finish his drink.

After five minutes or so, he stood quite abruptly. When Brienne raised her eyebrow at him, he smiled slightly. “I should get going. Not a huge drinker as it is.”

Brienne nodded in response, watching him pat his pockets to check that he hadn’t lost anything. He grinned at her as he noticed her looking at him, causing heat to rise in her cheeks. “I wouldn’t mind, you know.”

“Wouldn’t mind what?”

“Finding out how good with your hands you are.”

He turned swiftly, still grinning and head straight outside before she could even begin to respond.

The glass she was holding fell to the floor and shattered, causing multiple patrons to cheer ‘WHEEEEEY’ at her with laughter. She barely even noticed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime tells Brienne about his life, then proceeds to steal her best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really don't have anything to say anymore  
> this has just become complete and utter crack  
> i am essentially D&D  
> i'm so sorry

A month or so into their friendship, Jaime tells Brienne about his family and the accident that took his hand.

The only issue was - because Brienne was involved, _of course_ there had to be an issue - she hadn’t even noticed that he had lost his hand.

They were just lounging about on his sofa, trying to decide on what to watch, when Jaime sat up and said ‘hey, can I tell you something?’and then suddenly he had one less hand and she knew his life story.

She’d done a good amount of gazing at just about every part of Jaime, but somehow, she had managed to miss the biggest thing about him. In her own defense, she found out the prosthetic was so realistic she could stare at it for a good amount of time without realising, but it was cold to the touch and it suddenly made a lot of things clearer, like how Jaime never touched anyone with his right hand. Jaime informed her with a bitter laugh that his father insisted on him wearing it, meaning to hide his disfigurement with its realism as opposed to it offering any kind of movement or actual use. Brienne sat listening silently, wanting to hold his hand so tightly that he could lose that one as well, but she didn’t, choosing to slap on her best sympathy face instead.

He told her about being raised by his father after his mother had died, when he and Cersei were seven, how he’d been very clear about what purpose they were to have in life as Lannisters and were not to indulge in anything otherwise. He’d curled his lip in cruel disgust as he spoke of Cersei bullying their younger brother Tyrion, blaming him for the death of their mother, for his dwarfism, for merely having the gall to exist amongst their presence. His father had barely regarded him, either, and Jaime’s voice was suspiciously tight as he went on about his brother, his closest friend, and how he’d sworn to protect him from the big bad world and the awful people residing on it. She learnt about how Jaime was the heir to his father’s investment banking company, Casterly Finance, even though he hated everything about working there and Tyrion was far more suited to the job.

He told her about Aerys Targaryen, the beloved KLU university professor, his own friend, who was planning to set fire to the uni library at the end of the year, his dangerous pyromaniac tendencies driving his descent into madness; how he’d sold his good friend out to the police when Aerys confided in him, how he sat through the trial of his own mentor and helped to provide the evidence that put him behind bars. Nobody really cared, though, because he was everyone's favourite lecturer and nobody else had seen or heard anything about it, therefore it couldn't be true, and Jaime was a hateful liar exacting revenge on him for giving him bad grades, or something.

He told her all about how he’d fought with his sister and father while they were all drinking. Cersei was trying to throw Jaime from the company to take it for herself, stating that she deserved it more, had worked harder for it than he had. How his father had attacked him with his usual vicious words, declaring him the disappointment he’d always known he’d been. He’d thought himself more sober than he was and thought to drive home, sending his car into a tree, fortunately doing no harm to anyone but himself. His arm had been underneath the door as it crushed him; doctors told him that he was lucky to keep his arm up to the elbow.

Cursing her inability to handle intense moments or prolonged silences, Brienne asked him why he didn’t get a pirate hook instead. He stared at her like she’d just shat out an alien on the carpet, before collapsing in fits of laughter. She turned red and said that at least he had plenty of options for Halloween costumes, and that only made him laugh more, all of the tense energy evaporating as he clutched his ribs.

Seeing him full of laughter after such a serious conversation made Brienne feel just a bit lighter. Felt more normal.

She couldn’t help herself asking. It had played on her mind over and over, the whole time, the unanswered question taunting her. The atmosphere was easy, “Why did you want to be my friend, Jaime?”

It didn’t make sense. Brienne knew what she looked like and she knew what Jaime looked like. Though she wouldn’t purposely think herself so shallow, it’s no hidden secret that the rest of the world was, which would result in mocking and jabs at the both of them. It was only realistic that he shouldn’t have ever even looked in her direction, yet taken a confusing interest in teasing her.

Jaime sighed, burying his face in his hands for a moment before he leaned back and looked at her. The anxious look on his face was enough to knot Brienne’s stomach and it suddenly became clear to her that she probably wouldn’t like the answer.

“All my life I’ve been doing what my father told me. Acting like the spoiled brat rich kid who doesn’t give a fuck. I’ve been a really hateful person. Hells, I’m thirty two and I’ve never had any real friends, Brienne, that’s the saddest fucking thing ever.” His intended laugh came out more as a huff of anger. “Everything is about image for my family. I was their image. Then my hand got chopped and I’ve become the person that my family ridicule and undermine. They won’t talk to me unless I wear the prosthetic, won’t even look at me. I came to a very late realisation that my life was fucking miserable and that looks mean nothing. You can be the prettiest fucking person on the planet and still be a piece of shit, but you’ll end up alone. I just had to lose my hand and become the person that I’d always laughed at to have this epiphany.”

She knew it, Brienne thought, of course it comes down to appearance. Everything in the world always does. It wasn't like she hadn't heard every single name in the book throughout her life, because she most definitely had. There was just something that made it cut a bit deeper when someone she considered a _friend_ would say it. She was unable to stop her hands from trembling as she shoved them fiercely into her lap. Her jaw locked and she spoke through gritted teeth. “That still doesn’t explain where I come into it.”

“I wanted moving in here to be my fresh start. Not entirely fresh, given that I’m still trapped under my father’s thumb, but at least have some independence. When your post showed up in my mailbox, it was a given that I was going to have to meet someone new whether I wanted it or not.”

“And you thought you’d piss about and make friends with the ugly girl so you can have a good old laugh at work about it?”

He flinched, his expression hurt for a split second before sinking into a sad smile. “Maybe back in the day, I would have. I can’t pretend I haven’t been a hateful prick for most of my life, but no, that wasn’t why I wanted to befriend you. Like I said, I’m _trying_ to be better,” he shrugged. “I wasn’t planning on brown-nosing or faking my way through a conversation. We spoke, and it felt nice. Do you know how difficult it is to purposefully be an arsehole all the time? It’s more tiring than you would think. Anyway, I wasn’t befriending you because I had some ulterior motive, you just happened to stand there with your pretty eyes and terrible sense of humor, it interested me.”

Brienne choked out a disbelieving laugh, turning bright red in the face, whether due to anger, doubt or embarrassment, she didn’t know. Jaime made no move to acknowledge if he’d noticed.

“I thought after the first time that it happened, that was that, but the post kept coming to me and it was like a sign, it felt like the world was telling me to get to know you. Then when you mentioned The Winds of Winter, I knew it was meant to be and now we’re best friends and everything is good.”

Brienne could only stare at Jaime, giving him the same look that he’d given her before over her pirate hook answer, as he finished off his speech with a casual shrug, leaning back to take in her reaction.

“Sansa is my best friend. Plus, you can’t have a best friend if you only have one friend, of course they would be the best when there’s no one else to pick from,” she said slowly, still mulling over his words.

Jaime scowled angrily, looking rather like a toddler having a temper tantrum, and huffed. “Are you serious? That’s what you’re taking away from all of that?”

“What do you want me to say? You’ve got a past. Everyone does. I can’t really hate you for what you used to be like before I knew you, even if it sucks to hear about it. You just have to do your best to make up for all that time.”

“And if I can’t?”

“You won’t if you’re strutting around with that attitude. Besides, you can always count on me to break your face if you choose to give up. There’s your motivation.”

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

After their conversation, everything went back to normal.

Except, not _quite_ normal, because Jaime suddenly became very clear that he was intending on being Brienne’s best friend, whether she wanted it or not. Suddenly she was faced with him attached to her hip at every available moment, the puppy pout of a three year old and _I told you my deepest darkest secrets so it’s only fair we have to be best friends now so you can't blackmail me_.

There was something very different about being ‘best friends’ with Jaime.

Good different; the kind of different that left her wanting to both strangle him until he shut up or kiss him senseless. Not that she would do that, that wasn’t what friends did, except for Margaery, maybe, but still. It was different.

He wasn’t the same as the other guys she had ever considered friends. There was Sandor, all snarls, growls and full of mystery. They really didn’t know anything about him other than he owned a bar and he fancied Sansa. Podrick was quiet and hesitant and struggled to delve into deep conversation unless everybody around him had been drinking, which, to be fair, was quite a lot of the time. Theon and Gendry were sort of just there as an extension of Arya and she was pretty sure she’d never even seen either of them not stoned. Renly and Loras were okay friends; after Brienne had gotten over her unattainable crush on Renly after realising embarrassingly late that he was, indeed, incredibly homosexual, and realised that without the rose tinted glasses, they were both a tad insufferable together after half an hour. Jaime, on the other hand, was unlike anyone of them - annoyingly, he’d quip ‘there are no men like me, only me’, which surprised Brienne immensely with it’s truth, as where Jaime looked like he had a head sat on his neck and shoulders like all other men, it was actually instead wedged so far up his own arse he could see his kidneys.

Luckily, Jaime joining the friendship group was just accepted near silently by all. The only comment had been from Arya when she’d greeted him the first time with a frown. ‘They let the retirement home out for the day?’ she’d asked, making Theon snort. Jaime shot back, ‘I didn’t realise they let playgroup out so early, where are your parents?’ and Arya had just shrugged and went back to rolling. That was it, he just sat down and it was suddenly like he’d been there all along. It felt so natural that Brienne almost felt that she couldn’t really remember what life had felt like without Jaime around. She only hoped maybe he’d loosen up on his affectionate suffocation a tad.

She had never felt that way before, and it was lovely. Lovely and scary, to be faced with someone openly wanting to spend time with her, which still sounded like complete bollocks in her own opinion.

Everyone got on well enough with him - way more so than Brienne had expected. Margaery liked to flirt outrageously with him, -being met with the same enthusiasm in return, much to Sansa - and secretly Brienne’s - annoyance. Theon and Gendry would sit each with an arm around his shoulder, dishing out advice over oddly specific situations that never quite made sense and calling him mate a bit too much, like he wasn’t ten years older than them, but she got the feeling that Jaime appreciated it either way. His and Arya’s interactions were little more than spitting insults back and forth between each other, though that seemed sufficient for the both of them.

Never in her life could she have predicted his and Sansa’s friendship, though.

A very odd pair. Sansa had told her that the Stark family were known to dislike the Lannister family, which seemed to be a very popular opinion, so Brienne thought it might be uncomfortable for her.

It appeared as if her fear was extremely misguided.

As it turned out, Sansa’s ex was Jaime’s nephew. Joffrey Baratheon, who happened to be widely known as a spectacular twat of the highest degree.

In Jaime’s words, ‘a cum stain on the pants of life’.

Arya, who most likely hated the kid more than softhearted Sansa, began regaling tales of Joffrey’s threats to her throughout the duration of the relationship. She wasn't going to bring up that he'd tried to finger her behind a McDonalds as a third date, nobody really needed to know that one.

This made Jaime mad. Rightfully so, but so mad that apparently some switch in his brain flicked into panic mode.  
  
He started acting like her dad.

To make the situation worse, she seemed to _enjoy_ it. Found it hilarious. Encouraged it.

Not to even get started on the implications of Sansa having a daddy kink, because _what the fuck._

At the beginning, it was innocent enough; Jaime making sure that Joffrey wasn’t trying to talk to her, asking if he’d ever done anything to hurt her physically, promising to beat the little shit stain up for her. That was fine and dandy.

It became a problem when they started involving Brienne, though.

She was cooking dinner for everyone in the flat because she was a kind person who refused to let her friends starve, even if they hadn’t given her grocery money yet but still managed to order take out for the past three nights, but that wasn’t the point. Brienne, as the dedicated mum friend™, had no qualms taking care of dinner, as luxurious as wholewheat pasta and cheese could be. Jaime, on the other hand, was doing everything in his power to make her want to pour the pan of boiling water over him instead. After throwing an endless stream of mindless questions at her, he took to hovering just a tiny bit too close to her for it to be comfortable. Enter Sansa, who caught Brienne glaring miserably at him in an effort to get rid of him, and laughed at how she was pulling the same face that her mum would pull at her dad when he interrupted her cooking, then referenced how Brienne was already the mum friend, so it was fitting.

Jaime, for some reason unknown to the Gods, assumed that would make him the dad friend, and _would. Not. Drop it._

He took to referring to Sansa as ‘their daughter’, undoubtedly leaving her red faced and fuming at him every time, which made him endlessly gleeful and spurred him on further.

It then turned into offering Sansa lifts to campus, making sure she always had money for a cab when she was going out then giving it to her if she didn’t, telling her to text them when she was coming home, the list went on. Brienne was so sure that he was five minutes away from investing in going bald, buying a Hawaiian print shirt then wearing socks and sandals.

He went on a rambling speech to Margaery about treating Sansa right. Never mind that Sansa and her brothers were from the North and Robb Stark would, without a doubt, shank Marge before anyone else could reach her.

Sansa had laughed at first, jokingly calling him dad in a teasing tone, which turned into Margaery and her giggling and calling him DILF, which Brienne had to explain to him, creeped out by the incestuous implications of this bizarre scenario. Then she just flat out started calling him dad half the time, still with a mocking tone, which was taking it too far, in Brienne’s opinion - but in her opinion, it never should have begun in the first place. There was something very disconcerting that Brienne couldn't name, like the fact she'd taken to the ridiculous joke so quickly was because she missed her actual parents, perhaps.

She wasn’t sure why it was irritating her, really. She’d introduced Jaime, to her friends, hoping they’d get along, but they were still her friends. He wasn’t supposed to charm the pants off of all of them. She was _her_   Sansa, _her_ best friend, The best friend she'd ever had in her life, if not the only one. It was terrifying, feeling like she was being pushed out while they formed their own little duo. Catelyn had wanted _her_   to take care of her daughters. Letting other people do it felt like a slap in the face, like she wasn’t doing a good enough job on her own.

Her worry must have been embarrassingly visible, because as Brienne went to shower, she found a post it note, words of love that could only be from Sansa because she sure as hell knew nobody else in the flat owned sticky notes, and when she returned home from class, Sansa had bought her coffee and asked her to watch Pride and Prejudice with her; not the film, which was Sansa’s favourite, but the BBC series, the one with Colin Firth, which was _her_ favourite and she softened up completely, overwhelmed with love. Then when they snuggled up on the sofa with a duvet, cups of tea and shared Sansa’s jaffa cakes with **DO NOT TOUCH** on a sticky note attached to the box, she leaned her head on Brienne’s shoulder and thanked her for being the best friend in the universe and Brienne felt like everything was okay again.

Maybe she wasn’t doing the worst job and she wasn’t letting Catelyn down at all.

(It also helped that the next time Jaime came over, her unread text message sat on his home screen when a different notification popped up, she’d pretended not to notice that he’d jokingly changed her nickname to MILF. But she definitely didn't see that, and it was _definitely_ a joke.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hot, Brienne is tired and the past gets dragged up. Margaery plans a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you may notice that I've added the final chapter amount. I've got the rest of the story sketched out, so if all goes to plan, this story will be concluded in 14 chapters. :-)  
> As per, my anxiety is through the fucking roof with this fic so I really do truly appreciate everyone who's given any feedback to this fic, it means the world to me. I know AUs are iffy for some people and writing these characters IC can be damn difficult but after season 8 I just /needed/ happy fluffy ridiculousness, you know? I'm not even sure any of this chapter makes any sense anyway, it's mostly filler to get things kick-started next chapter.  
> I'm not sure really whether to introduce Tyrion or Cersei into this. I wasn't exactly planning any drama at all, since that's not the aim of this. What do you guys think?  
> Anyway, thank you all again!

The warmest day of the year fell on a Thursday at beginning of June. The trees were swaying, a slight breeze in the humid summer air, birds were chirping cheerfully along to the sounds of students making their way between campus buildings, and Brienne had spent all morning trapped in a miserable concrete prison.

The hall was unbearably warm and the air felt sticky, making her shirt cling to her in all uncomfortable places with sweat throughout the entirety of her exam. She felt as if she could barely breathe through the thick air, not to mention that it just so happened that it was summer cold season, meaning multiple attendees were hacking up their lungs on their desks and sneezing obscene amounts, so it was more than likely that she was going to end up ill too.

The exam had been long and no amount of all-nighters could have prepared Brienne for it, but she felt that in all, she didn’t do too bad of a job. She didn’t just want to avoid having to retake the exam, she wanted to pass with a good mark.

Walking out of the main building into the warmth, she dropped onto the first bench she could see. Crowds of people flooded out of the building, moving so fast it was almost in slow motion as she watched. It was dizzying. Even with a good seven hours of sleep, she felt exhausted, at the point of collapsing. The combination of the heat and the mounting stress of her exam had left her entirely drained. Her only plans for the foreseeable future went as far as drowning as drowning in a huge cup of tea and wearing pajamas indefinitely.

Brienne barely reacted as someone dropped down onto the bench beside her. She didn’t have the energy.

“You look like you could use a coffee. Or seven.”

Renly. _Oh, lovely Renly, with his broad grin and two large cups of coffee in his hands_.

She slumped back against the bench and took one of the coffee cups from his hands, murmuring a ‘thank you’ quietly under her breath. Her back cracked as she hunched, the tension in her shoulders causing her muscles to ache and for her to curl in on herself even further.

Renly slung his arm across the back of the bench, peacefully looking around at the rush of the campus. “How did you do in the exam? I definitely didn’t spend enough time cramming.”

“I think I did okay. There was that question on the Rhoynish Wars that threw me off, but I did alright on the rest.”

“Yeah, fuck that one. Whatever, just so long as we pass, right?” he joked, his eyes warm as always, just as warm as the playful grin on his face.

It didn’t matter how much time passed by, Brienne thought, she would always get that telltale flutter in her stomach whenever Renly smiled at her like that. She was long over her crush, sure, but it sat neglected at the back of her mind, as if waiting to awaken at any point of sad hope that maybe somebody could want her, somebody as handsome as Renly. But no, Renly was extremely clear that his interests were exclusively male, and no matter how masculine Brienne’s body looked, she wasn’t going to win him over.

That was okay. She was okay with it now. It didn’t hurt as much anymore. At least it was because he was interested in men as opposed to being like every other boy she’d met who was repulsed by her.

He interrupted her internal ramblings. “I know the weather is nice and all, but I’m not risking visibly sweating in this shirt. Do you want a lift home?”

The weather aside, Brienne didn’t even know if her body could handle the fifteen minute walk home. She seemed to be having trouble even just holding her head up. Her tired response was a nod, so they both stood and head for the car park, searching out Renly’s Mini.

When they found it, she slid into the passenger seat, instantly recoiling from the burning, sticky leather in disgust. The worst part of summer was the way anything that sat in sunlight practically set fire, and she knew that thanks to her short sleeved t-shirt, her forearms were going to be stuck against the leather.

At least Renly had a nice car. All clean, tidy and well taken care of. Too many times had she been shoved into Sansa’s fiat 500, littered with water bottles, crisp packets and empty McDonalds bags. She had two pairs of shoes and a coat on the backseat for no apparent reason, and there was probably a box or two left in there from when they moved in. Brienne doubted she had ever hoovered the car in her life.

Sighing, she pulled her phone from the pocket in her bag. It had been turned off throughout her exam, but she barely had any battery left as she forgot to charge it, and she wasn’t expecting any messages anyway. It caused her slight surprise when her phone started incessantly buzzing as a barrage of texts came through all at once. That was not a good sign. She silently cursed her friends’ inability to send single paragraphs instead of seventy single messages.

**Marge: please don’t hate me but i’m throwing a little shindig for your birthday.**  
**Marge: it’ll stay small, i promise!**  
**Marge: i’ve already told Loras and the Stark boys, it’s too late to cancel now.**

**Arya: a fucking party lmao has she ever met you**  
**Arya: more like her funeral**

**Jaime: Oi oi wench**  
**Jaime: Are you home?**  
**Jaime: Nvm the tiny brat let me in**  
**Jaime: Bloody hell it’s hot**  
**Jaime: Should i buy some jorts**  
**Jaime: Let’s get matching pairs**  
**Jaime: Why didn’t you tell me your birthday was so soon???!!!!!**

An exasperated groan left her body before she could attempt to hold it in. Renly threw her a puzzled look. Surely if Loras knew, the news would have reached him already.

Margaery loved parties. No matter the event, big or small, she would take any excuse she could have to open up facebook and invite every single person she could think of to get drunk in their tiny flat, which would inevitably end with vomit staining the carpet and the curtain railings being pulled down - not an over-exaggeration, Gendry had tried to open the window, fell and taken the entire railing down with him. It was a frequent occurrence.

Brienne, on the other hand, hated parties. She was pretty sure that the first, last and only party she’d been at that she’d actually enjoyed had been at the innocent age of eight with a soundtrack of the Grease mega-mix and S-Club 7. All she wanted was to spend her birthday with the very few close friends that she had, curled up on the sofa with a couple of beers and a terrible romcom.

If Margaery refused to budge and there was a party, though, she was glad it was at least going to be in their flat. If it was at the Wolf and the Hound, she’d never be allowed to leave, or they’d have dragged her out to a club after. Their place wasn’t so bad, she could lock herself in her bedroom and go to sleep with headphones in, if it came down to it. She considered if she would be able to get away with getting everyone to sign a waiver making them responsible for repaying any money lost from their deposit in event of the party.

She had distinct memories of a night in at Robb, Jon and Theon’s gaff, which just made her all the more grateful for Catelyn Stark essentially adopting her, insisting she live in a decent, not-student flat rather than student housing. There had been leaking from the ceiling and a distinct sewage smell that never seemed to go away. Bare plaster was covering what Brienne assumed to be a hole punched through the wall, and it would take about six years to get rid of all of the KFC buckets left in the flat. Did weed stain walls like regular cigarettes? If so, those boys were fucked.

“Why so glum, chum?”

Brienne rest her head against the window, closing her eyes. “Margaery is planning a party for my birthday.”

That made Renly burst out laughing. She was so glad her friends were sympathetic.

“Of course she is! I think you could be on your deathbed and she’d still be getting people round. You know what she’s like,” he chuckled while shaking his head. “Remember when Loras had the stomach flu and she still dragged him out and fed him tequila shots? Then he got kicked out for throwing up over the bar and she got mad at him?”

Ah yes. That was a pleasant evening. The taste of regret and Margaery screaming ‘live for the sesh’ in her ear all night long.

“I was trying to block that memory out, but it’s not instilling any more hope in me now,” she frowned. Her eyes were dry. She wanted to fall asleep right there and forget everything that was happening. As she went to rub her eyes, her phone vibrated again from her lap.

**Arya: come park**

There was nothing more she wanted than to throw open all the windows in the flat slide under her duvet covers forever, but with the weather so hot, it was unlikely she’d manage to get any sleep anyway, and if she opened her bedroom window, the cast of Bug’s Life would be sure to make themselves known all over her walls, so maybe staying out wasn’t the worst idea.

No, scratch that, it probably _would_ be.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Whatever happened in the time between Brienne receiving the text and collapsing down on the grass in the park was beyond her. One second, she was in the car closing her eyes and the next she was laying against a tree, half asleep. If you’d have asked, there was no way she’d have been able to tell you how she’d gotten there.

The group were huddled on a tatty old blanket under a huge old oak tree, almost central of the huge open field. It was all endless green and sounds of kids screeching and kicking footballs about. There was the sound of an ice cream truck chiming from somewhere not too far off. If she had the strength to lift her head to look around for it, she may have been tempted by a 99 Flake.

Brienne and Jaime were leant back against the tree trunk in the shade, both of them taking up too much space given their height, long legs stretched out far enough to meet the sun. Arya sat cross legged near them, boiling away in her black t-shirt and dark skinny jeans, leather jacket tied round her waist. No weather was worth risking the aesthetic, apparently. Sansa and Margaery were to their other side, lain out in the direct sunlight with jackets folded under their heads, as if sunbathing. Sansa appeared to be making a daisy chain, while Margaery was just blabbering away about the party.

She wasn’t quite sure what she was talking about. It was all too easy to tune their voices out and only barely listen to whatever sounds they were making as she closed her eyes and slipped into naps. Certain words she could pick out from her sleepy haze, but nothing that she heard sounded at all interesting. If Margaery wanted a party, then she could have one. That didn’t mean Brienne was going to enjoy it, or even be there in the first place. Maybe Jaime would hide her away in his place until it was over?

No, he’d probably be right there snickering away at her misery with her.

She exhaled angrily through her nose at her own thoughts, causing Jaime to turn and send her a worried look. “Who pissed in your cereal this morning?”

“Nobody. Just don’t want a party,” she said as she waved her hand dismissively. He sunk lower against the tree besides her, dropping his head onto her shoulder. Unintentionally, she froze, then panicked that he’d notice and call her out on it, so she tried to settle back as he did, fidgeting until she found herself more comfortable. It was normal. Friends did things like that, right? Brienne just told herself she wasn’t good with physical affection from anybody.

“C’mon, wench, it’s a party. Everyone loves parties. You play drinking games and watch other people embarrass themselves, what’s not to love?” he murmured into her shoulder. The way his lips moved against her, even through the fabric of her t-shirt, caused her to tense up again, putting her on edge. Gods damn it, why was she so… _frigid_?

She knocked her head against his. “Brienne, not wench,” she growled under her breath, “and I can’t stand parties. They make me uncomfortable, there are too many people, it’ll be loud and I hate having the attention on me. I won’t even know half of the people who are invited, I can guarantee it.”

Even wearing stupidly expensive sunglasses, Brienne knew his eyes were glinting with amusement under them. “You’ll know me. Well, me and your flatmates. That’s all you need, no? Besides, if you don’t want the attention, I’ll just steal it. I’m the life of the party. It’ll be the greatest night of your life!”

The grin on his face was blinding, all dimples and perfect teeth.

“Or everyone will be wondering why I’ve got a boring old man at my party,” she said lightly.

He scowled almost instantly as she spoke, making her smile. “I’m not that old! And I’m fun!”

“That’s what old people say when they have to convince themselves they aren’t old and boring. You’re an old man who works a posh desk job for his daddy and a fancy shmancy flat where you can throw dinner parties and discuss retirement and other old people things.”

As she joked, his expression became hurt. She could see it in his frown. She had done something wrong. He refused to meet her gaze as her eyes searched over his face for the answer; for any hint of where she went wrong. “What? What did I say wrong?”

“That really is how it looks, isn’t it? People know my name, but that’s what they’ll see when they look at me, right?”

It wasn’t the first time she’d seen Jaime vulnerable, but there was something about the way he spoke that made her stomach drop, drop straight into a black hole, swirling away making her feel overwhelmed with nausea. Of course, she was joking, but it was like the coin had dropped for him and he’d realised how he could look to other people. She had a feeling it was to do with being tied to his father’s business.

He’d told her how ashamed he felt, like he was leeching off of the family name and he hated it. He never wanted to run the business, but that was all his father had ever prepared him for. It was like the Lannister name was a curse on him, he’d said. Everything he’d done, he did for his family, but in that, he’d never done anything for himself. For someone with an ego as big as his, it surprised her that it was a defense mechanism to cover up how empty he really felt. She knew, she understood him. All she wanted to do was help him, to tell him how he could be so much more if he wanted to be, it was all his choice, but nobody could make him see that. It was all about waiting for him to see by himself.

Taking a deep breath in through her nose, she threw all caution to the wind and lay her head gently on top of his, where it still sat in the crook of her neck. The intimacy of the action flooded her entire body with warmth, making her cheeks burn, but she refused to back away. “You know you’re nothing like that. Maybe the old Jaime, but new Jaime is nothing like that. New Jaime can be whoever he wants to be and do whatever he wants,” she murmured, trying to ensure her voice was as sincere as the words were.

Never could she have believed that someone have less faith in themselves than she did, but the proof was right besides her, and it was like looking in a very distorted mirror. Opposite looks, opposite personalities, but the same pain and the same fears.

When he didn’t respond, she tried a different approach. “Besides, if anyone does think that, I’ll just tell them you’re my sugar daddy and they’ll drop it.”

That dragged a laugh out of him. Not his usual bright, carefree cackle, but it was something, even if it was husky and slightly tense sounding.

Torn from their little bubble of just themselves, Margaery let out a confused hum. “Hey B, who the fuck is Hyle Hunt and why is he asking for an invite to the party?”

Her face went white as she felt all of the blood drain from her, seeping out into the grass and disappearing. _Why now?_ _Why,_ after everything was starting to get better? Finally, when she was trying to move on and black the memories out of her mind forever, _why now?_

“Please don’t tell him anything. Don’t message him back.” Her voice was barely a whisper, choked out through force.

Sansa was on her knees now, shuffling to come and wrap her arms tightly around Brienne. She was the only one who knew what had happened. There had always been to much shame to tell anybody else.

How was she supposed to tell Margaery, natural beauty and the most charming woman on the planet, and Arya, certified badass that demanded attention just by being in the room and existing, that boys had bet on her virginity and she’d never had a clue? That she’d believed it all. How was she supposed to talk about how ugly she felt, even though she knew it was true, how she couldn’t leave her room for a week because she felt so ill, and how she’d covered up all the mirrors in her house so she wouldn’t have to look at herself?

It had taken a lot of therapy to move forward.

She thought she was in a good place. She thought things could be better now, but no. The past was digging itself up and throwing itself at her.

The look on the faces of her three friends who didn’t know of the situation were filled with panic and concern. She hadn’t realised that her eyes were hazy with tears and she’d started to shake in Sansa’s arms. She was stroking her hair, hushing her soothingly, trying to comfort her, but Brienne’s entire body was burning. Burning with fear and fury.

Margaery was hesitant when she spoke again and all of her words were slow, as if she had to analyze every word to ensure that it was the right thing to say. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, but we’re worried for you, B. You know you can trust us with anything, right? That’s what best friends are for.”

Brienne could only nod harshly, her large hand moving to swipe the tears away. _Pathetic, crying over this again_ , she thought. _Too many tears were wasted on the situation already._

“Sixth form, back on Tarth. There was this group of boys that I went to secondary school with, who’d bullied me for years. I’d never done anything other than just exist around them, I guess, but they couldn’t stand me. Hyle was part of that group, though he never outright said anything to me. I thought he was the best of the bunch. They were in my sixth form too. I didn't realise he was living here.”

The words were spat out like dirt.

“Out of nowhere, they were being nice to me. It was stupid- I should have seen from the beginning, but I was so fucking naive,” she shook her head, sighing, “they all wanted to be my friend. I thought that they’d matured, that they wanted a truce. Hyle asked me out on a couple of dates and I said yes. I was desperate. I needed the friendship, and I thought he was different. I’d gotten home from one of the dates when he sent me a text. I guess he meant to message Ben, this other kid who was in their group. Anyway, he was relaying everything we’d said and done during the date and was bragging about how close he was to winning, how they’d better get their wallets ready. It turned out it was all just a bet on who could…who could _fuck_ me first.”

All of her friends looked horrified, except for Sansa, who had the exact expression of a cat about to hack up a furball. Brienne felt like she might throw up, too.

It was silent between them all, before Arya flung herself on top of Margaery, grappling for her phone. “Let me fucking have him, I’ll fucking kill him, I’ll put him in the fucking ground-”

Brienne reached out and put her hand on her arm to stop her. “Don’t. It isn’t worth it.”

Jaime blanched next to her. His fists were balled so tight that she was sure he was cutting into his palms, and his jaw was rigid, the vein on his neck about to explode.

“What the fuck do you mean it isn’t worth it?”

“I mean, I’ve been through all this before. I don’t care why he wants to see me. I’m not interested in anything he has to say.” Her face was set in stone, but her voice betrayed her by shaking pathetically. “Tell him he’s not welcome.”

They all burst in outcry.

“We have to do something about this, B!”

“You’re having a fucking laugh if you think we’re dropping this!”

“I’ll kill him, I swear to the Gods!”

Through all of her rage, exhaustion took back over and suddenly it was all way too much to handle. She pushed herself to her feet, her face stormy. She blinked away the leftover bleariness from her tears, her mouth tight. “Please, just drop it. I want to go home and sleep, please. Just leave it.”

All of them were pale, speechless as they looked up at her. It was because she’d never let anyone get away with something like that, she thought. They knew her well, but this was a fight that ended years ago for her.

“I’m not angry about it anymore. I just don’t want to have to deal with it, okay? It’s done, it’s the past, just forget it.”

She was lying through her teeth and they knew it, but she prayed that they would let it go, just for now.

Sansa stood and slipped her hand into hers. She made sure to squeeze it gently in thanks. Margaery shook her head, but brushed herself off and pushed up off of the ground, no less. Her fingers intertwined with her other hand.

Arya was glaring at the trio, while Jaime was staring at the grass, refusing to look up.

“We’ll see you later, then, I guess,” Sansa said, her voice ice cold, her eyes raking over the two on the ground with an angry curl of her lip.

Arya returned her expression with a shake of her head. “If you won't do anything, we will.”

 That was enough to send a cold bucket of water down Brienne's spine, chilling her to the bone as she stormed off, dragging the two girls attached to her away. She refused to look back at them. If they wanted to make a stupid mistake, let them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: googles how to end chapters because WHO KNOWS


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime looks for advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had all of this story planned out start to finish but I now have no idea and it's all gone tits up so ENJOY A JAIME CHAPTER.
> 
> PS: the rating has gone up to M, but don't get your hopes up, the extent of my smut is 'they had sex and it was sexy', so this is purely for language.

Jaime Lannister was having a mid-life crisis.

That was his only conclusion.

There was simply no other excuse for it.

Okay, sure, he had hoped he’d live maybe a bit longer - he wasn’t craving the sweet release of death so much anymore, as he was when he first lost his hand - and he’d finally thought about getting his shit together and making something of himself, instead of continuing to live on as the self-centered prick he’d been for twenty odd years.

But, alas, life had other plans for him, it appeared.

No, he couldn’t just buy a stupidly expensive sports car, get a terrible tattoo or a haircut, or even start wearing leather pants and silk shirts, no.

Instead, he, for some unknown reason, had decided to befriend a girl almost ten years younger than him.

Not just a girl, but a girl who so happened to be exact opposite of everything he has ever known in human beings.

And not just befriend, but to attach himself to her like leech.

He was hopeless.

It wasn’t as if he’d purposely set out to befriend her, more than he sort of accidentally ended up liking her and forced her to hang out with him. It was so far from beyond his intent, he’d have laughed his past self in the face if he could.

There was no doubt that if he’d encountered her in the exact same scenario a few years before, he’d have been mocking her openly, likely with Cersei right along side him spurring him on, but that was a different time, and being horrible and negative and a snooty arsehole was just exhausting, never mind that he had approximately zero friends to speak of.

And hey, he was the bloke that wore a fake hand so that his family would pretend to like him, so who was he to be judging other people on how they looked?

Maybe that was the biggest part of it, losing part of himself. Learning that beauty could get you everything you wanted until it’s marred and you realise that it was the only thing in your life that you actually had for yourself. Maybe having spent his entire life treating other people like shit due to things they weren’t in control of, only to have a taste of his own medicine, a nice bite in the arse from karma after all those years, because suddenly he wasn’t in control of how he looked and all anybody could see was his lack of a hand, not a sparkling personality or a beautiful face, just the part of him that was no longer there.

Besides, even if she was built like a brick wall and looked permanently uncomfortable, it wasn’t like she most likely didn’t know that, so instead of pointing that out, like he would have in the past, he just decided to not be old Jaime. He decided not to be dick for no good reason.

Except she didn’t seem all that impressed with the Lannister smile and his utterly charming sense of humour. It didn’t take a professional to see the terrible for a polite smile slapped on her face was completely fake. He would know, he was a professional. It would have almost been funny to watch, if she didn’t look like she was physically in pain from the experience; an expression he knew all too well from years of watching Tyrion be mocked.

Never mind that he looked caught her eyes and suddenly forgot his entire train of thought. He covered it well; years of practice, he could be an accomplished actor by now, but if asked, he couldn’t for the life of him remember what in the hells he was saying to her. She had astonishing eyes, the best eyes he’d ever seen. It wasn’t hard to have pretty eyes, but her eyes weren’t just pretty, they were awe inspiring. He could write poems about her eyes, which would be bad, because he barely passed GCSE English and definitely couldn’t write a poem for shit.

If he’d have known, looking at her, on that first day, he’d never have guessed.

It only took him forcing his way into every aspect of her life to get her to pay attention to him. It was weird, to him, having to try and gain someone’s attention, because he’d always had everyone's’ attention already. It was like nothing he’d ever known before, and if anything, it only made her that much more fascinating. He had to win her over, there was this undeniable force in him, this need to be liked by her. He easily invited himself along wherever she was going, when he saw an opening, and cracked more jokes than he had in his entire lifetime, much to her stoney-faced dismay, but there was such an impulsive need to see her smile, really smile, teeth and all that he couldn’t have stopped himself even if he tried.

It was fate, he decided, that their post kept getting mixed up. It happened too often to be a coincidence, so someone out there was telling him that he needed to know her. It was a nice nudge, because he very much wanted to get to know her, so he sent his thanks out to the Gods, or whoever it was that kept forcing them into each others’ presence.

And he’d never believed before that friendships could be formed in such a short amount of time, but barely a month into knowing her, he’d told her everything there was to know about him because she was just so easy to talk to, and he wanted her to know. He’d never wanted anyone to know him before, but Brienne was definitely the exception to every rule he’d ever heard. Time meant nothing, he’d have called her his best friend a week into knowing her.

None of it was on purpose, and the worst part was that he really, _really_ liked her, and he knew just how weird it looked to everyone on the outside, because he was the thirty two year old hanging around with students, making him look like that weird dad that’s always hanging around the barely legal, the one that’s prematurely balding and wearing ugly shirts, trying to buy you drinks and make you dance with them in a bar, not leaving your friend group alone despite your obvious discomfort, he knows it. Good looks aside, he knows how weird it looks, and Tyrion doesn’t waste a second not making fun of him for it.

He liked her friends and how easy it was to get along with them, but they were just a bonus. There was something…comfortable, about being able to drop into her flat without a second glance, to have there be a cup of tea on the side made for him because someone figured out he would be coming over, and how they’d started making more food for dinner because he’d inevitably end up joining them. He’d given them all access to his Netflix account, which officially made it the most serious relationship he’d ever been in, even if it was with a group of barely twenty-something students.

Their flat was also infinitely nicer to hang out at. Not because of the furniture (Gods no, he’d never seen so many suspicious stains on a single sofa in his life) but his flat was empty and cold, whereas their flat was warm and lived in and there was always something happening. He didn’t think he’d ever been there without someone making stupid amounts of noise, and it was so nice. There were empty alcohol bottles lining the fireplace like trophies, worn blankets strewn across the place messily, photos tacked onto the wall and shelves full of complete and utter crap that nobody would normally notice but he did, because it was everything he imagined a home would be like, that he didn’t have.

The realisation of the extent of his feelings for Brienne didn’t sneak up on him. It wasn’t a slow, spread out discovery that built, instead it hit him like a freight train.

Oh, how he would have laughed at himself for everything he originally thought on that first day, if it didn’t tear him up inside completely.

Because out of nowhere, having Brienne sprawled out on his sofa with her long, long legs kicking about left him uncomfortably tight in the trouser area, going for a run had him falling back behinds her just to watch her thighs and bum as she ran, admiring how toned and strong her body was, how he couldn’t go a night thinking about how he wanted those thighs around his waist, or his head, or anywhere on his body, and watching her tug off her hoodie when it got too warm was suddenly unbearable because her back muscles were on display for him and the way her arm muscles flexed left him wanting her to pin him up against the wall, or on the floor, any surface possible, so long as she’d top him.

Not only did Jaime have to reevaluate every thing he’d ever known in life realising he would willingly be this girl’s bitch, he also had to come to terms with being utterly helpless when it came to her personality. It shouldn’t be possible for such a person to exist - the kindest, most honest, naive yet entirely wonderful person. He’d have been a fool to have ever looked past her, and after spending his whole life around a vindictive family who had him under their thumb, it was what he needed in his life.

For so long, Jaime had been everything he was told a Lannister should be, aka a prize-winning cunt with a shitty attitude and a stick up the arse, and he’d have done anything for his family. Blindly supporting Cersei whenever she needed it, because they were twins, and that’s what twins did, but sooner or later it became clear that it wasn’t normal or healthy. Being around someone who supported him and he could support in return, but only when necessary, that was healthy, and it lifted a weight off of his conscious.

Which would explain why he was at his brother’s flat, whiskey in hand laid out on the sofa like he was in a psychiatrists office.

Tyrion seemingly found the entire situation absolutely hilarious, enough so that he was laughing so hard that he had to wipe a tear away mid-sentence.

“I never thought I’d see the day where the esteemed Jaime Lannister panicked over a young woman like a pre-pubescent teenager,” he grinned, delighted to relish in his angst.

Jaime only groaned in response, flinging his right arm over his face. “You’re supposed to be helping me here. What do I do?”

Taking a seat on the leather armchair opposite him, Tyrion pretended to think deeply for a moment, tapping a finger against his chin. “Well, let’s see, since I do have _so_ much experience in long term relationships and dating, I’m sure I’ll give the very _best_ advice.”

“You don’t need to have been in a long term relationship to give advice! Just help me before I drive myself insane with this!”

“Would you like me to pass notes between the two of you? How about one that says ‘will you go out with Jaime?’ with two little check boxes saying yes or no. Would that work for you?”

“You are being entirely unhelpful. Just the worst. Don’t ever get a job in customer services,” Jaime frowned, taking a sip of his drink. Tyrion was reliable when it came to many things; gossip, providing alcohol, good nights out, but advice of the romantic persuasion was not one. He’d seen his brother in one single relationship in his entire life, and he wasn’t sure if five months was really considered as long term, looking at it objectively.

“People love me, I’m a people person,” his brother shrugged before looking a bit more serious, eyes slightly narrowed. “Maybe I’m not the person you need to be asking. Maybe you should be talking to one of her friends about this, I’m sure they have many more successful romantic endeavors than I do.”

Jaime paused mid-sip. Of course, why didn’t he think of it before? There was no need for such desperation as to turn Tyrion or Bronn, possibly the worst people to ever rely on for advice. The answer was right in front of him all along.

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, motioning to the front door. “When you decide that you want to fuck someone and get away scot-free, then I’m the man to ask.”

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

The front door was already unlocked by the time he got there. Not bothering to announce his presence, he strode in, a man with a purpose, to the kitchen, where Sansa was pouring herself a drink. He clamped his hands down on her shoulders, making her jump and clutch at her chest, accidentally flinging her cup down on the counter.

She spun around and growled at him, obviously doing the best she could to look intimidating. It wasn’t working. “You could have given me a heart attack! Look, what a waste of juice as well. You’re awful.”

Not wanting to actually piss her off before asking her for help, he ruffled her hair in apology before going to sit on one of the bar stools crammed up against one of the islands in the tiny kitchen. She turned back to pour herself another drink, shooting a brief glance at him over her shoulder. “B isn’t here, she’s working.”

“I know that. I’m not here to see her, I’m here to see you.”

Sansa frowned ever so slightly in curiosity, sliding onto the stall beside him. “While I do appreciate it, I feel as if you have an ulterior motive.”

Jaime shrugged in return. “I need your help.”

“What can I do for you?”

He heaved out a sigh, far more overly-dramatic than required for his following words. “Can you help me figure out how to tell Brienne that I want to be with her in a way that won’t end in bodily harm, on my part?”

Of all the reactions he had been expecting, Sansa’s knowing, smug smile wasn’t one of them.

“I do hate to say I told you so, but…”

“You’ve never said anything of the kind!”

“Hey,” she pointed, “I started the whole mum and dad thing. I called it. Let me have my moment.”

“Right, well, whatever you say. Anyway, I don’t date. I have never dated. I’m notorious for not dating. I don’t have the faintest clue how to even approach the situation, and somehow I don’t think that telling her that I’d like to have sex with her would go down well in her books. Ergo, I need your help.”

Cradling her cup in both hands, Sansa nodded sagely, looking very much like a wise old woman. “Yes, yes, I do see why that might be an issue.”

Jaime folded his arms on the counter, laying his head down on them. Every part of him wanted to bash his head into the wall for never having experienced such a basic thing, something as simple as an actual healthy relationship. He’d gone thirty two years without ever even attempting or wanting a relationship, sex was there when he needed it so why bother? It was different when it came to caring about someone, someone he considered his best friend, and didn’t want them to pummel you into the ground and leave you forever.

“Please, Sansa,” he whined, dragging her name out, even as it was muffled against his arm, “I’ll owe you forever.”

“I don’t want payment, I want to see Brienne happy. I think that you make her happy, therefore I will help you. Though, it needs to be said, she is first and foremost my best friend. I’m always going to be on her side, no matter how much I like you, okay?”

She took a deep breath before continuing. “I think that you need to sit her down and make it clear, before anything else, that you aren’t fucking around with her, that it isn’t a joke. Now, I know she trusts you, but that’s going to be her first instinct, so keep reassuring her the entire time, right? Then you should make your intentions clear, tell her how you feel about her. Maybe don’t drop the L bomb or anything, just tell her that you want to date her, or that you want to be her boyfriend, as childish as that sounds. Make it very clear. _It is not a joke_. Hold her hand, smile nicely, look at her like she personally put every single star in the sky herself, like you usually do anyway. Let her decide, don’t get angry or impatient, just let her figure it out herself after you’ve told her.”

Jaime had no response other than to blink owlishly at her. He felt like he should probably be taking notes. He’d missed out on the entire term spent studying this shit, now it was the night before the exam and he was fucked.

“So…go slow, don’t be a dick, tell her how I feel.”

“Essentially, yes.”

“I think I can do that.”

Sansa sat back for a moment, before clasping her hands together and letting out a delighted squeal. “Oh, you guys! You’re gonna be so cute, the cutest.”

“Look, we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves here, we don’t even know if she feels the same way.”

“Of course she does. Why wouldn’t she? If anyone else spoke to her the way you do, she’d have them in a neck brace. She likes that you’re an intolerable arsehole, I think.” She stared at him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Plus, you really do look at her like she hung the stars in the sky. It’s sweet, even if she can’t see it.”

He smiled slightly, ducking his head. Jaime Lannister does not blush, he chanted mentally, shaking his head. If he did blush, it was all over, he’d never hear the end of it. Sansa would tell Margaery and it would haunt him forever. “She’s the best person I know.”

“I think all of us could say that, honestly.”

“When should I tell her? I’d like to do it on her birthday, but I wouldn’t want to ruin the entire day for her if she doesn’t feel the same.”

Sansa pondered for a moment. “Do it before the party. If it goes well, you’ll be all loved up, if it goes wrong, you can both get absolutely wankered and not remember anything by the time morning rolls around.”

Jaime snorted. “That was some straight up Tyrell advice right there, Stark.”

“Not at all. It’s Arya’s advice, actually,” she said before snapping her fingers. “Ooh, speaking of, you’re both still in trouble a la the whole Hyle sitch. You should apologise for that before trying to tell her anything, she’s really cut up about it.”

Oh, right. Hyle. Hyle Hunt. More like Hyle _Cunt_.

The entire situation was a train wreck. It seemed so simple; Brienne didn’t want to see or talk to him, so that was it, but it couldn’t be. There had to be some comeuppance for his idiocy and inability to exist without being a complete tosser. Though she could, Jaime really doubted that Brienne would get physical, unless he tried the bet thing a second time. He, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to kick him so hard he’d never be able to reproduce. Arya had been worse, threatening to chop him into little pieces and sell him on Ebay.

Personally, he didn’t really feel as if they needed to apologise for anything. They wanted to look out for her, it shouldn’t have been insulting. It wasn’t a bad thing.

Still, if it would get him back in her good graces, he’d do just about anything.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery's Birthday party for Brienne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for missing my own bloody upload schedule for last week. It's been a rough one.   
> I don't know how frequently this will be updated for now because IRL is messy and I have -10 motivation to write.   
> As always, feedback means the absolute world to me, and I really am thankful for whoever is sticking through this with me. I promise I will finish it, eventually.

There were many things in her life that Brienne could never have predicted. For one, she could not have predicted leaving her father behind to move to London and attend KLU. She could not have predicted making the friends she had. Specifically, she could not have imagined Margaery Tyrell throwing a party that wasn’t a raging nightmare full of stuck up strangers making rude comments.

That, of course, wasn’t Margaery’s fault - they were both two very different people, who enjoyed very different things. Where Margaery loved captivating a room and charming the pants off of everyone, Brienne would rather disappear into thin air forever.

Therefore, she was extremely surprised to walk into The Wolf and The Hound only to be greeted by a rather small selection of people who all seemed moderately sober. Not that the pub was huge, but there were more people around than Brienne would have remembered to invite, if she, _Gods forbid_ , ever thought to throw a party herself. Everyone was fully dressed, there was no vomit, which shouldn’t be a surprise at 8pm, but things usually got messy much earlier, so it was a shock of sorts.

In classic Margaery fashion, there had been clothes left on her bed for her when she’d returned from her trip to the gym. Too many unwilling, dragged out shopping trips had obviously given Sansa and her girlfriend the idea to just buy clothes for her without even inviting her along anymore - not that she wasn’t grateful to be uninvited from her idea of hell. The silky blue blouse and tight jeans weren’t the worst of their previous purchases, and Brienne thanked the Gods that they weren’t forcing her into heels and a dress for the night. She’d even let Sansa struggle with her hair for a bit, even though her attempted curls fell flat only moments after they were created. Margaery insisted on poking her eyes out with eyeliner, but the moment the lipstick came out, it was time to leave.

There she entered, hand in hand with Sansa, who's tight grip on her hand only worried her more.

The pub looked different. Margaery and Sansa had obviously taken control for the night, since Sandor looked absolutely miserable behind the bar - although that was his usual expression anyway - surrounded by fairy lights that definitely weren’t usually there. Sansa told her that she’d wanted to get balloons, but Marge had thought it was overkill, and ‘she’s turning twenty four, not seven, babe’. Brienne was almost thankful that Sansa hadn’t gotten her way. If she had, the room would have been filled to the brim with balloons, banners and disco lighting. Noticeably, the tables had been pushed closer together, in small bunches, so that everybody would be near each other no matter where they stood or sat.

Margaery was the obviously the first person greeting them, giving Sansa a kiss not entirely suitable for a public place before reaching up to grasp Brienne’s face, placing several kisses on the side of her face. “Happy birthday, babycakes,” she sang, her grin wide. “Not too bad, right? You should have seen Clegane’s face when I asked to throw the thing here, it was hysterical. Sansa had to totally plead our case.”

The pissed off look on Sandor’s face made all too much sense to Brienne. There was still a small part of her who was feeling that way, considering she never wanted a party in the first place.

Arya was next to join them, hesitantly wrapping her in a tight hug. She was surprisingly strong for such a small girl.

Things were still tense between the the two of them, after the argument over Hyle. Jaime, too. Brienne understood their anger, of fucking course she did, she’d wanted to rip the kid to pieces and sell him on eBay, but what was the point? Why start another fight when it could all be left in the past where it belonged? Ignoring him until he went away was the only reasonable option. He didn’t deserve to talk to her, whether it be to apologise or to antagonise her further. The entire situation had made living together difficult. Arya wouldn’t talk to any of them for the past week, choosing to ignore their entire existence, even when they had been trying to make amends. She’d never known the younger Stark to be so stubborn, but at this point, Brienne was just glad that she’d bothered to show up to the party at all.

Patting her on the back, she sighed long and deep before letting go. All Brienne wanted was for things to go back to normal. How did this single thing manage to drive such a wedge between them all? “Thank you for coming, Arya,” she murmured.

Arya only looked up at her with a shrug of her shoulders, her mouth set in a straight line. “Don’t thank me just yet.”

With another sigh, Brienne looked around the pub as her friends wandered off to socialise, with squeezes of the hands and pecks on the cheek. Renly and Loras were wrapped up with one another at one of the tables, looking like they’d be better off undisturbed. Pod was being ganged up on by Theon and Gendry, looking entirely uncomfortable with whatever they were telling him. Robb Stark was against the back wall, deep in conversation with Jon, another man she only vaguely recognised as Sam from one of her lectures. There were two girls with them she’d never seen before, but she felt guilty even thinking about crashing their conversation. _At her own party_. _Ridiculous_.

The obvious choice that was desperately trying not to make was sitting at the bar with Sandor, with a very short man beside him. Tyrion, she assumed, from everything he’d told her of his family.

He looked up and caught her eye in that moment, but she just looked away. They hadn’t seen each other since the argument. He could wait.

Instead, she decided to barge her way onto the seat next to Sansa, who had Margaery on her lap. At least they’d never get angry at her for third-wheeling them. Sansa pouted at her upon her entrance. “Aren’t you supposed to be having the time of your life? We’ve been here all but five minutes and you already look like you want to go to bed.”

Brienne could only shake her head. “You know me, not the biggest party animal.”

“Would it help if I change the music? I mean, this playlist is kind of dull. Do you want to dance?”

“When in the entirety of our friendship have you seen me dance, Sansa?”

“There’s a first time for everything. Dance with me!”

She rolled her eyes. Thankfully, Pod seemed to have escaped unscathed, although his expression suggested otherwise, and gave her a shy but bright smile as he approached. The smile that she gave him in return was just as bright.

“Happy birthday, Brienne, thanks for inviting me.”

Margaery snickered. “You work here, you goof. We couldn’t uninvite you.” Pod just smiled sheepishly at her teasing, still looking as shy as she felt herself. He leaves them, telling her that he’ll be back with drinks in a moment, as a birthday present to her. Sansa has a wistful look on her face, her chin doing this little wobble as she watches him walk off.

“He’s so damn _cute_. I just want to tuck him up in a blanket and give him forehead kisses. Can we adopt him, Marge?”

“You do realise he’s the same age as you, right?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s a total baby. A puppy, even. I want to pinch his cheeks.”

“I’m not adopting a fully grown man, no matter how badly you want to take care of him.”

Brienne drifted out of the conversation, tuning them out as she turned to look at Jaime again, still in conversation with his brother and Sandor. Not for the first time, she found herself wishing that she wasn’t so stubborn, desperately wanting things to just be normal again between them. They had spoken almost daily since they first became friends, and although it annoyed the hell out of her, she was finding it to be pretty lonely without him spamming her phone throughout the day. Not that she would tell him that, ever, because he’d take it as encouragement. She just missed him.

Her view was suddenly blocked, only a dark t-shirt in her eye line, and she realised that Pod was holding out a drink for her. She took it with a small smile, thanking him.

Margaery called for a toast, raising her glass to gather everyone round. ‘To the birthday girl’ she’d proclaimed, spilling her drink on the table with a loud cheer. Brienne sat surrounded by her friends, wondering why she felt like there was a storm cloud gathering over her as she watched two of her best friends merely raise their glass with stony-faced glances in her direction.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

There had been far too much drink for only a few hours to have passed.

Margaery had insisted on them drinking cocktails, starting Brienne with a mojito and a long island iced tea. Sansa had rallied everyone together, insisting they all do tequila shots. The two girls that were with Robb and his friends, Ygritte and Gilly, had also bought her shots, something godawful, bitter and dark, leaving her with a terrible taste left in her mouth for the whole night. Finally, Theon had slipped her his hipflask, filled with rum. Gods know why he would do that, and how many diseases she was contracting from mutual oral contact with the thing, but she was starting to be too feel too drunk.

After her fifth swig of ‘one for luck’ liquid courage, Brienne prepped her brass balls to be the bigger person and right the wrongs that her friends refused to face. Fighting was too tiring, and holding a grudge while feeling just a little drunk was difficult. Sober Brienne would be angry, but at that moment, all she wanted was to be with her friends, instead of watching two of her favourite people stand at opposite ends of the room ignoring her existence on her birthday.

Her feet carried her up to the bar before she even recognised where she was standing. Sandor’s raspy laughter at her facial expression was enough to make her notice that she’d stopped directly in front of Jaime and his brother, who were both looking up at her like she was bonkers. Gods, she wished she had her drink to gulp down.

“Jaime.” Her fingers tangled together as she looked him dead in the eye. It was all she could to stop herself from bolting.

As he looked at her, Brienne couldn’t even begin decipher the look on his face. It was something she’d never seen before, which threw her off her game completely. He didn’t appear to notice, giving her a wry smile. “Brienne. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

The air between them fell silent, uncomfortable. It felt like she was being smothered and she struggled to breathe normally.

They were still staring at each other directly, and Brienne knew her face was flushing horribly, she could feel the back of her neck burning. Jaime’s eyes softened as she blushed, his smile fading to something small and more genuine looking.

From the seat behind him, there was a cough. Their gazes snapped away in an instant.

Jaime threw her another small smile before dropping his head. “Right, sorry. This is my brother, Tyrion. Tyrion, Brienne.”

She extended her hand, which Tyrion took in a firm grip with a sharp smile that could have almost been a mirror of Jaime’s. “A pleasure, Brienne. I’ve heard only the best things.”

“Of course, it’s good to finally meet you. Jaime’s told me so much about you.”

Tyrion’s eyebrows raised and a smirk played on his lips. “Yes, the same could be said for me. I hope he’s treating you nicely. He did always struggle to play nice with the other children.”

Jaime looked absolutely horrified, running a hand over his face. Brienne only flushed harder. She didn’t want to get into whatever he was trying to start. She’d been warned about how Tyrion could be previously.

“He’s, uh, perfectly respectful, I assure you,” she told Tyrion, hoping her smile was sincere enough to convince him to drop it before she turned to Jaime. “I, uh, actually was hoping to talk to you about something, preferably alone.”

Thankfully, he didn’t question her at all, just stood to follow her. Still, she caught the glares he was throwing in Tyrion’s direction as they walked over to an unoccupied corner of the room. Something told her that he wasn’t telling her something important; something that Tyrion seemed to be in on, that was driving her insane. Her heart was pounding. She felt like she was going to throw up. Surely none of this was normal.

To her dismay, she couldn’t keep the sad smile off her face for more than a moment, although her jaw tightened when she remembered that she hadn't actually done anything wrong. “Is this how it works with you? We argue, so you have a tantrum until I give in and force you to talk to me?”

Jaime looked like he was also about to throw up, so luckily it wasn’t just her.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Brienne.”

“Sorry, maybe? Happy Birthday? Anything other than radio silence is good at this point.”

The sound of her shoe scuffing on the hardwood floor and her heartbeat pounding in her ears drowned out anything that could be happening elsewhere in the pub. As far as she was aware, everybody else had disappeared and it was only the two of them left standing in the dark corner, hidden away and ready to fight it out. She hoped it would be a fight to the death, at least there would be no time to feel embarrassed about facing him if she was dying.

He took in a deep breath before he was exploding, his words rushing out like a river. “I’ve never had a proper friend before, I’ve never even known anyone as nice as you in my life, and it’s really difficult to watch you be hurt and upset by people when I know damn well that you’re the last person on the planet to deserve it, and I know you can protect yourself, that you don’t need me standing up for you, but you’re my best friend and I care that Hyle made you miserable and it still upsets you, I want to be able to make it better, even if you don’t want to face it. I’m sorry for avoiding you, but I’m not sorry for wanting to hurt him. I still want to. He deserved a broken nose, maybe a collarbone or an ankle, whatever, it doesn’t matter, he just deserves the same amount of pain that he caused you, which is impossible because you said it happened years ago but you’re still upset so it’s obviously affected you really badly. I don’t want to fight, Brienne, especially not on your birthday, especially not over some dickhead who hurt you, I really fucking missed you and I want us to go back to being friends so I can tell you about all of the stupid shit I’ve done without you there to save me from it.”

She blinked at him, stunned. “Oh.”

“Happy Birthday, by the way.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

It falls silent between them again, just as it did at the bar. Brienne couldn’t say whether she’d rather cry or run off in embarrassment. Part of her was fighting her thoughts, telling her it was all bollocks and lies, but another part was filled to the brim, bursting with happiness and affection and love, which she doesn’t even want to begin to think about; she can’t dare to open that box, not with the one man who’s trying to be a good friend to her, nothing more. The longer they stood silently staring at each other, the less of a fuck she gave, the more thoughts she shoved away.

She settled on wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him into a hug.

In her affection-induced haze, she found herself telling him that she missed him, too. The hug lingered for a few moments too long for a friendly hug, something feeling a tad too intimate, but she pulled away without saying another word, refusing to acknowledge it aloud.

The hug seemed to be enough. The look on Jaime’s face had shifted from a genuine smile to almost panicking amounts of glee. His eyes were wide and filled with what she assumed was excitement, as he was practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. “We’re good now? Can I give you your present now?”

His grin was almost manic as she told him yes.

“So, wench,” he started, holding his good hand up in warning, “this present is small, but I promise that it’s not the last one, so don’t call me out on it, okay?”

Her returning smile was small but her brows furrowed at his words. “This present? Jaime, you didn’t need to get me anything, yet more than one present.”

“You won’t be saying that once you’ve opened them,” he sang, giddy as he passed her a very small package. He looked almost younger than her in this mood, the pure joy on his face making him look like a kid on Christmas day. She narrowed her eyes at him, only for him to grin back at her wider than before, as she tugged the tape off of the wrapping paper.

“What is it? Oathkeeper?”

“It’s a keyring! You know, like my one. You pointed it out when we first met, so I thought you’d want one. Now we match.” The way he said it was almost nervous sounding, as if she were going to throw it back in his face and tell him to piss off.

The grin that slipped onto her face couldn’t be stopped if she had tried. It was such a stupidly small thing to be happy over, but Jaime barely remembered what he ate for breakfast in the morning, yet one of their conversations from a couple of months previous. Nobody remembered anything about her, she wasn’t used to that. Jaime did, though. So there she stood, clutching the most sentimentally valued present she’d received from someone other than her father. “I love it. Really, Jaime, thank you.”

His smile still nervous, but his eyes had softened. The way he was looking at her made her legs go weak and she genuinely panicked that her legs would give way and she would collapse. The next hug she drew him into, she swore was only to keep herself standing upright, she swore.

Jaime pulled away, plucking his phone out of his pocket where it sat, vibrating. His expression dropped slightly as he read whatever message had popped up. “Sorry, give me a minute. I’ll be right back, okay?” He frowned deeply, touching her arm briefly before he spun away at light speed.

Next was Arya.

Leaving the corner of intimacy and weird more-than-friend feelings, Brienne stalked towards the two people who were most likely to be with her, even though she couldn’t spot her in the bar.

“Briiiiii-enne!!” Theon cheered as she walked over, thumping her on the back in what she supposed was supposed to be some sort of brotherly gesture. Instead, it just made her almost choke on her own spit. Gendry just shook his head, laughing. “Come to claim your present?”

Her eyebrow quirked. “My present?”

Theon licked his lip lasciviously. She imagined he’d thought was seductive. It wasn’t. “I’m always up for birthday sex.”

Pretending her stomach didn’t turn at that thought was a lot harder than she’d expected. Her expression was grim, which caused Gendry to laugh even harder than he had been before, clearly finding the entire situation peak comedy. _Yes, sex with the ugly friend, fucking hilarious_ , she thought, biting her lip to hold back the snarky comment sitting on her tongue. “As appealing as that sounds, I need to find Arya. Do you know where she is?”

Both of the boys shrugged, hesitant as they looked at each other. “She ran off a few minutes ago. Said she had shit to do.”

Brienne frowned. Where would she run off to in the middle of a party? It wasn’t as if she was the kind of friend to ditch her, regardless of whether they were fighting or not. She gave the boys a brief nod in thanks, heading in the direction of the toilets.

Calling out her friend’s name, she kicked open all of the unlocked stalls, noting that none were locked, and revealed that the toilets were entirely empty.

The eye contact she made with Margaery as she stormed back into the room was filled with panic on her part. Loras looked between the two of them, utterly confused between what was going on. She reached the table, slamming her hands down on it harder than she meant to, causing it to rock unstably. “Has anyone seen Arya?”

Margaery shook her head. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“She ran off. Gendry and Theon said she had something to do, but she didn’t…she didn’t even say bye to anyone. I’m worried.”

Reaching out to grab her hand, Margaery frowned, chewing on her inner cheek as she mused. Brienne looked at all of them, knowing she looked hopelessly bedraggled at this point. Renly leaned forward from his seat behind Margaery and Loras, his face sitting on both of their shoulders. “She went outside. Thought she was going to throw up when I went out for a smoke, so I bolted,” he chirped cheerfully, far peppier than the situation called for.

“Okay, right, thanks.”

Margaery held her hand out before she could leave, clutching at her arm so she could follow her outside.

Outside to the scene of the crime.

Pushing the doors open to the surprisingly damp air of the night, there was a sharp cry coming from the ally next to the pub. They gave each other a worried glance before racing round as fast as they could after that much alcohol. Brienne was surprised she wasn’t on the floor after the rum, honestly, but she wasn’t going to question it.

That was where she found Jaime, knuckles bleeding; Arya, her foot holding down Hyle Hunt by his shoulder, who was laying next to a rubbish bag, bleeding from the nose.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Brienne's party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup pals.  
> Upload schedule? We don't know her.  
> These last chapters are just going to be thrown out whenever they're finished, but fear not, I do intend to actually finish this fic and have no plans to leave it without update for months. We're getting there.  
> This chapter feels quite short and a bit choppy with scene transitioning so I'm sorry in advanced for that.  
> I'm terrible for not replying individually to comments, but I hope you all know that reading through the comments every chapter receive actually makes my day and you guys are the fucking best for leaving me your thoughts, truly. Nothing makes me happier.

Brienne’s gaze was wildfire as she glared at Arya and Jaime, her jaw set tight and her teeth grinding. Of course they didn’t listen, they just did whatever they wanted regardless of the consequences, like the always would. Never mind that she asked them not to, or that they were supposed to be her closest friends, no, why would they listen to her when they could start a fight instead?

Tearing her eyes off of the two sheepish looking fools she called her friends, Brienne hauled Hyle up off of the ground, ignoring how wet his sweatshirt was as she slung his arm over her shoulder and her arm wrapped around his waist. There was a taxi rank right next to the pub and thankfully, it looked deserted. The last thing she needed was to stand through Hyle Hunt and his never-ending excuses. His nose was definitely broken and it didn’t look like it was going to stop bleeding any time soon. As they reached the first taxi, Brienne shifted through the small bag Margaery had shoved on her and triumphantly pulled out her pack of tissues - which were absolutely necessary all year round, because summer colds were _definitely a thing_ , regardless of what Marge said. Plucking a few out and shoving them at Hyle, she pulled the taxi door open with more force than necessary and nudged him in, not giving a second glance as the taxi pulled away from the curb and drove off into the night.

It was raining, it was dark and Brienne wasn’t nearly drunk enough to deal with the mess that awaited her.

Her first stop, she decided, was behind the bar. Sandor only gave a rough grunt under his breath as she reached for the fireball. He gave her a quizzical look, but she waved him off, taking a shot. Her next stop was Sansa, who she promptly informed of the situation before telling her that she was leaving and to keep the party going. No point in ruining everybody else’s good time purely because there were a few select dickheads in attendance. Her goodbyes were brief, responded to with a flurry of ‘happy birthday’s and farewells. Her last stop was the apartment, where she wordlessly dragged Arya and Jaime, too angry to even look at them in fear of lashing out.

She wasn’t a pacifist. Brienne could fight if she needed to; if she wished to, but she didn’t. Why would she waste her energy on something so small and insignificant. Beating up Hyle wasn’t going to change the past, nor would it make her any prettier, or less ungainly, less freckled. Beating up Hyle wasn’t going to give her some insightful epiphany that talking to a therapist didn’t. She could easily take her anger out in better ways, ways that didn’t lower herself to his level. Never mind that she’d busted Ron Connington’s jaw when she’d heard him talk explicitly about what he planned to do to her to win the bet, she wasn’t that person anymore.

The walk was silent. Arya looked as if she wanted to speak; kept opening her mouth before giving up and closing it, unsure of what to say for the first time in her life. Jaime had the decency to look riddled with guilt, not even looking up from the concrete of the pavement as she hauled him along. They rode the lift in silence, entered her flat in silence, and took seat on the settee in silence.

She looked at the two of them sitting there, hands clasped with white knuckles, looks of worry on their faces and all she could do was shake her head. It was obvious they had no defense for their actions. The anger was draining from Brienne, leaving only hurt and disappointment in its wake. Their heads snapped up to look at her as she asked them why they did it.

“Why not? From what you told us, Brienne, it was a long time coming. He didn’t even seem surprised, almost like he knew he deserved it,” said Arya.

That was annoyingly satisfying, to know that he still felt bad. “No, that’s not what I meant. I meant, why did you do it after I asked you to leave it alone?”

For the first time that night, a look of guilt flashed across Arya’s face and her voice sounded hurt when she spoke. “You like to tell us all that you can fight your own battles, and we know that. We know you can, but you don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to. It’s all fine and dandy that you didn’t punch Hyle yourself, but think about if it was one of us. Think about how you would have reacted if Sansa, after years of bullying, had told you that someone had set up a bet on her virginity and you’re supposed to just sit there and accept it, like it’s completely normal. You can stay angry at us, it’ll suck, but we couldn’t just sit by and watch someone get away with that, regardless of whether it was in the past or not. Although, the way you cried over it suggests that maybe it isn’t in the past as much as you’d like to think.”

Brienne was stunned. The cruel words and the ridiculing followed her every day, but the bet? The bet sat in a neat little box, tucked away at the back of her mind, until this entire situation happened and it opened up like Pandora’s box. Arya had completely called her out, and to say was shaken was a bit of an understatement. She wasn’t over it, not at all, and to make it worse, she hadn’t even realised. She’d spent so long blocking it out of her memory that she didn’t even know how badly it screwed her up, which was enough to bring panicked tears to her eyes.

Jaime cleared his throat, finally speaking up. His voice was low and she had to strain to hear him speak. “We’re sorry for upsetting you, but we’re not sorry for what we did to him. We’re not going to apologise for his comeuppance.”

Arya nodded in agreement, the guilt gone from her face, replaced by fierce determination.

Brienne was tired. Too tired to stay angry at them for defending her. Too tired to have her birthday ruined by minor bloodshed. Too tired to stand in her living room and argue about something that should have been dead and buried years before. She hung her head, taking in a deep breath before letting it out in a loud sigh. The entire situation still stung, albeit well deserved by popular opinion, but what was her excuse to stay mad? Angry that her friends tried to protect her, wanted to take revenge on someone who hurt her? She couldn’t exactly tell them to stop caring. “Okay. Please don’t do it again, in the future.”

She paused a moment, before looking away from them and dropping her voice. “But thank you for caring. I appreciate it.”

Arya gave her a quick nod, her facial expression unreadable. She stood to leave, giving Brienne’s hand a squeeze before she head off down the hallway to her bedroom, leaving Jaime alone on the sofa, staring up at Brienne. She moved to sit down next to him, sighing again as she rest her cheek on her hand, propped up on her knee, turning to look at him. He only stared back, his expression oddly soft, if not still filled with concern.

“I should have told you that she planned it. I shouldn’t have made up with you and then made things worse again. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you should have told me. It was a terrible idea and none of this should have happened, but I’m not going to argue about it any longer. It really is over now, so we can all just drop it for good.”

Jaime let out a defeated sigh, running a hand through his hair. When he looked at her again, there was a small smile on his lips. “Is there any chance I could give you your other birthday present now?”

Brienne raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to bribe me for forgiveness?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” he grinned, slipping his hand into hers so he could help her stand up. She followed his lead, trying desperately to keep her head from exploding when he kept holding her hand, their fingers wound tightly. He only let go to fumble in his back pocket, looking for his door key. After he unlocked it, he pulled her into the living room, still smiling, though as they came to a stand-still, it morphed into more of a smirk.

“Before I give you this, there’s two rules.”

“You’re giving me rules before I can have a present? I don’t think I understand.”

“One, no complaints about cost. Two, no trying to give it back to me. Okay? Promise me.”

Brienne frowned. If she wasn’t worried before, she sure was then. She didn’t even want presents in the first place, yet expensive ones that she couldn’t turn down. She watched him pull open the hallway cupboard, swiftly sweeping whatever he was holding behind his back, trying to keep her view of it blocked. The way he walked back to her, shuffling in an effort to keep it hidden had her hiding her laughter behind her hand. While he smiled at her laughter, clearly glad to have made her laugh, he still appeared nervous. Standing in front of her, he sucked his lower lip into his mouth, his eyebrows furrowing in worry. “Remember the promise, okay? Don’t hate me.”

He pulled out a sword from behind his back, laying it down on her open palms.

Like, an actual fucking sword.

Not just any sword. She would have recognised it anywhere, of course. The brass lion head pommel with rubies glinting under the lights. Oathkeeper. It was heavy and the blade was definitely steel. She stared at him, her eyebrows knit together in confusion. He just shrugged at her, though she could see that his shoulders were tense. He had that sheepish smile back on his face again.

“I had to use a couple of shady Lannister sources to track it down, but…you’re holding one of the prop versions used in the show. Not for the fight scenes, _obviously_ , but…happy birthday.”

The rules suddenly made a whole lot of sense.

Her first instinct was to cry, then to yell at him about spending so much money on her, give it back to him and then cry some more. Instead, she gaped at him with wide eyes. Her brain was working overtime trying to catch up with what was happening. All she could do was stare at him in disbelief. Jaime’s expression was growing more anxious by the second, to the point where he looked like he was about to leap and grab it back from her regardless of what he’d said before.

Shaking her head, she blinked herself out of the disbelief, although she couldn’t stop staring wide eyed at him. “You bought me Oathkeeper. Like, the actual Oathkeeper.”

“Yep.”

She blinked at him in bewilderment. “A sword, Jaime.”

“Well, yeah. You deserved something special.”

She had half a mind to use the sword to beat him down on the floor. Panic flit through her again as she took it in. No matter how gorgeous it was, how thrilling it was to be holding a prop from her favourite TV show on the planet, it was too much. Mindful that her voice was near hysterical and definitely at a higher pitch than normal, she tried to pass it back to him. “I can’t keep this.”

Surprisingly, he looked nervous when his eyes met hers. He somehow managed to simultaneously age ten years with worry wrinkling his face, yet also look like a worried kid waiting on their punishment from mum. “Tyrion collects swords, he thought it was a good idea. Do you not like it?”

Of course, she’d only met Tyrion for a grand total of five minutes, but somehow it seemed exactly like something he would recommend. Her eyes widened and she shook her head frantically. She was holding a sword. A sword that she was desperately trying to push back into Jaime’s hands. “No, no! I love it! But I can’t take it. It’s way too much.

“What did I tell you about trying to give it back and complaining?” He rolled his eyes and she noticed they were beginning to spark with something akin to anger. “Look, I’m sure my father will have some choice words for me once the accountant questions him on it, but it’s not exactly like it’ll make a dent in the bank account. Brienne, what good is having a stupidly rich family that you don’t get along with if not to spend it on important things like this?” Jaime shrugged, his smile anything but cheerful.

“It’s just my birthday! It really isn’t all that important!” she pleaded, her voice growing more desperate by the second.

He looked ready to fight her if she said another word. His voice was almost a growl in the back of his throat, when he spoke. “It’s important to me. You’re important to me.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Brienne ran her hand down the hilt, fingers barely grazing it as she admired it. If she thought arguing with them about punching Hyle was bad, she was sorely mistaken. Jaime was almost worse than her when it came to being stubborn. “Can you at least keep it here for me, please? I don’t have anywhere to keep it safe in the flat, and quite frankly, I’m scared to give Arya access to an actual weapon.”

At that, he flooded with relief and let out a slight laugh, promptly taking it out of her hands and going to put it back into the cupboard again. The entire ordeal had left her hands shaking, nausea swirling in her stomach, unsure if the entire day had actually happened or if it was purely an absurd nightmare that spiraled out of control.

“Thank you, by the way. Y’know, for the present,” she said quietly upon his return to the space in front of her. “You’re important to me too.”

His eyes twinkled up again as he looked at her and gave her a brief nod. “Are you going to go back to your party?”

Brienne wrinkled her nose. Putting any more alcohol in her system would make for a disaster and she’d definitely end up doing something stupid. Not to mention that the rollercoaster of an evening had sent her racing through about eight different emotions in under two hours, leaving her completely and utterly exhausted.

“If by _party_ you mean ‘my bed’ and by _going back_ you mean ‘going to sleep’ then most definitely.”

That made him grin. “I knew it, you party animal. Just can’t get enough, can you, wench?”

She pushed his shoulder, narrowing her eyes at him as he teased her. When she began to pull her arm back, he stopped her, grabbing her hand before she could withdraw it. Confused, she squeezed it gently, prompting a soft smile from him. The way he was being overly-affectionate with her set her on edge. Yes, she had next to no self confidence and she definitely knew what she looked like, but she had enough braincells to notice that he was being strangely nice to her and touching her more than usual, which was straight up weird. It wasn’t as if she’d complain about it, but it made her poor, love-struck heart stutter in her chest, leaving her breathless again. She had assumed that was just the price to pay for being good friends with a man who was the human equivalent of a masterpiece, but this wasn’t what she was expecting.

Holding back an extremely cliched gulp, she watched him, wide-eyed as he stepped into her personal space, his good hand tentatively coming up to rest against her cheek. Jaime had nice hands, at least the fleshy one, she thought, a very nice hand that she’d half expected to start strangling her to death, simply because it seemed far more likely than him stroking her cheek, his thumb brushing over her freckles. From one cliche to another, she couldn’t have stopped her breath from hitching as he leaned in slowly and and kissed her on the cheek, enjoying the way his beard brushed against her jaw in a way that left her face burning up. No, not just her face; her entire body was on fire. Gods, was she so touch deprived that she’d get turned on from a kiss on the cheek? Apparently so.

Though she was left with a fiery blush that probably went from head to toe, it was almost hard to care when he was staring at her with warmth in his eyes and his fingers twirling the hair at the nape of her neck. His eyes flit to her lips before darting back up to her eyes. For a long moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Her heart practically stopped beating in her chest and suddenly there was no oxygen left in the room. It was everything she’d not allowed herself to imagine, but the way he was looking at her pierced right through her, like he could see everything she was thinking.

Then he stepped back, pulling his arm away with him.

He smiled at her, small but genuine. She was pretty sure she wasn’t actually breathing anymore.

Choking out a hoarse ‘ok thanks bye’, she spun on her heel and hightailed straight out of the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A sword, Jaime. Sword. You got me a sword. Jaime. Jaime. A sword. You got me a sword.](https://youtu.be/-noMjN0mGpQ?t=55)
> 
> I can't for the life of me keep Brienne angry for longer than a paragraph and I still can't write good endings to chapters.


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